Poison Four Age of Consent
by ginny29
Summary: A new year brings rising pressures for OZ as Rebel activity increases. For Treize and Zechs, their new relationship means facing buried parts of themselves. A retreat for Zechs' 18th leads to unchangeable events and the past is far too close at hand. 13x6
1. Chapter 1

**POISON 4**

**Chapter One**

Treize sighed, stretched, and pulled the next in the seemingly never-ending stack of folders towards him, twirling his pen between his fingers as he read through page after page of dense statistics, occasionally slashing caustic commentary in red ink against one margin or another, before closing the folder with a snap and tossing it to the floor at his feet.

Turning to his waiting computer, he input the first in a series of passwords and opened his inbox, scanning through titles and sender identifications to separate those he needed to read from those he could delete out of hand.

Without looking up, he reached out with his left hand and brought his coffee cup to his mouth, grimacing when he discovered that the liquid it contained had long since gone cold. For a moment he contemplated ringing for a fresh pot, but as his hand touched the buzzer he changed his mind and instead got to his feet, crossing the room both to stretch out the kinks in his body and to reach his liquor cabinet.

White gloved fingers captured the gilt handle and pulled down the wooden front panel, revealing glittering crystal glasses and matching decanters.

Studying the selection for a moment, he picked up a tumbler and reached past the row of decanters to an array of bottles half hidden at the back of the cabinet. His hand closed around the neck of a bottle and he pulled it into the light, half smiling to himself as he took it and the glass back to his desk and set them both down in place of his coffee cup.

A little over an hour later, a heavy knock echoed through the room and drew his attention from his workload. A warm smile lit his face – there were only two people on base at the moment who would dare to knock directly at his door and even if he hadn't known Zechs's knock for years, Lady Une didn't posses the strength to make the door rattle in its frame in quite that manner.

Putting his current raft of papers to one side, he stood up and crossed the room, noting as he walked that the world was hazy around the edges and seemed to be moving a pace behind him. With more caution than he would normally have employed, he opened the door and then leaned against the frame. "Well, hello, Zechs," he greeted warmly. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"My mission report, sir. About the rebel cell we destroyed this afternoon."

"Oh? I hadn't realised you had command of that particular mission?"

"I wasn't in command – I happened to be in the hangar when the company was preparing to leave and I was invited along."

"You _happened_ to be in the hangar?"

Treize's twitch of a smile told his friend that he wasn't fooled by this seemingly chance encounter.

"Yes, sir," Zechs agreed, his voice revealing no matching humour. "I happened to be. Fortunate, considering…"

The smile vanished. "Considering what?" the general snapped.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Locke is dead, sir. His mobile suit took a direct hit from a 105mm armour-piercing shell… there isn't a great deal of him left."

There was a silence for a space of time whilst Treize appeared to assimilate this news. Then he turned on his heel, walked back to his desk, picked up his beaker and drained it in one go.

"Where would rebels get that kind of hardware?" he demanded.

"I… don't know, sir. We didn't think they had – there was no indication that they should have anything powerful enough to do more than scratch the paint on a Leo. Locke's suit going up was the first warning we had."

"Why am I only learning of this now?"

"We've only been back on base an hour. I had to see to the rest of the company first. I thought you'd prefer to have all the information I could give you to hand… and I didn't want to pass news like this over the radio or by email."

Cinnamon hair flashed blood red in the electric lighting as the older man lifted his head and stared at his friend. "News like this?" He moved one flimsy folder further to one side and picked up his bottle, pouring a generous measure into the glass and then coming back to the younger man's side. "Go on."

Zechs took a deep breath, his jaw tense under his helmet. "More than half of Locke's company were fresh from the Academy – the mission was supposed to be straightforward and quick, a good first experience. When Locke was killed most of them panicked and…" he shrugged, although the gesture wasn't as smooth or as careless as he would have liked. "Three are dead. One more most likely won't see dawn and another two will be off active duty for a fortnight or more whilst they heal. The rest are bruised and bloodied, their nerve shaken."

Treize watched him for a moment, then handed him the tumbler. "Don't argue, just drink it," he ordered.

"I wasn't going to argue."

The senior officer waited for Zechs to finish the Cognac, reclaiming the glass when he was done. "Are you hurt?" Treize asked, concern flashing in his eyes.

"No."

Treize nodded, relieved and took Zechs's arm, trying to lead him to the sofa. Zechs shook his head, resisting.

"I can't, sir. I'm filthy."

The general ran an assessing gaze over the pilot, noting the smudges of oil, smoke and blood on his shirt cuffs and breeches, but his hands, for some reason missing their gloves, and what could be seen of his face, were clean.

He shrugged. "This sofa has seen far worse than a bit of oil."

"No, sir. I'm soaked in blood. I only came to tell you what had happened. I need…"

"There's the odd spot, yes, but…"

Zechs shook his head again. "More than that, sir," he insisted, his voice seeming to tremble a little. "My jacket is red – it hides a lot." He freed his arm and made for the door, pausing only to murmur, "Excuse me," over his shoulder as he left the room.

Treize watched him go and made a sudden decision. Picking up his cloak, he flung it over his shoulder and left his rooms for the hangar bay.

The smell caught his nose before he turned the corner into the last stretch of corridor leading to the hangar area: the unmistakeable, unholy combination of damaged mecha and injured pilot. The aroma was unforgettable and even if Zechs hadn't already told him how wrong the mission had gone, Treize would have had some idea as soon as he picked up the mingled odours of blood, burned flesh and burnt-out wiring.

The scent only got stronger as he approached the hangar doors and Treize forced himself to take shallow, slow breaths until his stomach stopped jumping, regretting now the Cognac he had drunk on an empty stomach as he fought the nausea. Their general throwing up in the doorway would do no-one's morale any good.

The usually immaculate, precisely laid out hangar was a ruin; mobile suit parts were scattered across the white concrete floor, and pools of oil and blood, both separate and commingled, stained the surface. Technicians were darting back and forth, carrying buckets, tools and manuals, attempting to restore order and begin repairs.

Treize shook his head. Clearly, the engineers couldn't cope and that was unacceptable. If they were unable to manage the aftermath of a simple raid-gone-wrong then they would be of no use to him when his plans came to fruition.

Making a mental note to himself to look into finding people who could cope with difficult circumstances, Treize turned his head, looking for the hanger foreman.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a row of sheet-draped bodies laid against the wall and changed his mind about speaking to the foreman. Swift paces took him across the expanse of the bay, his boots protecting him from the pools of cooling, condensing fluid.

There were four bodies, as Zechs had told him – Locke and the three pilots – and he realised the recovery teams must have been out and returned already. Understandably, the bodies of the dead had been all but ignored in the chaos – the medical teams were more concerned for those pilots still living and the technicians had to make sure the damaged suits were made safe – but it pleased him that someone had taken the time to place the remains in a relatively clean corner and draw a cover over them.

Going to one knee by the first of the bodies, Treize reached forward and used one hand to pull the sheet down from the still-cooling form.

The face that appeared from under the sheet was young, still boyish, still carrying the roundness of childhood. Treize doubted the boy's skin had ever seen a razor.

There were traces of blood around the edges of a few shallow cuts on the lower right jaw and the neck, but nothing disfiguring, and for that the general was grateful – this child's parents, at least, would have the comfort of seeing his face for one last time and knowing his death had been quick and relatively painless. Slowly, trying not to disturb the body more than he had to, Treize reached white silk gloves around the boy's neck and released the catch on his identification tags, folding the cold metal into his hand for a moment before sliding it into a pouch on his belt. Then, gently, he pulled the sheet back up and moved on.

As the general knelt before the third body, a shadow fell over him, blocking his light, and he looked up in irritation to see the sergeant in charge of the engineering crews watching him, arms folded, from a little way back.

"That one's not so pretty, sir. You might wanna brace yoursel'."

The sergeant's voice was a study in spiteful solicitousness, meant as a deliberate test of his officer's composure, and Treize raised an eyebrow, both annoyed with the man for his callousness and impressed at his courage in speaking so to someone who was, in every way, his superior. "I've been a soldier for half of my life. I doubt this body looks any worse than others I've seen," he replied, his voice deliberately cool.

"If you reckon so, sir, but your fancy young major was looking more than a bit green round the edges by the time we'd cut that one free. The view screen was smashed to smithereens, see – there was blood all over…" The sergeant trailed off, obviously seeing something in his commander's darkening gaze that told him he was going too far.

In truth, Treize already had some idea of what he was going to find when he pulled this sheet back; one of the bodies had bled out enough that Zechs had felt he was soaked with blood – that was why his gloves had been missing, the general realised – and neither of the others he had looked at already had bled much at all.

Still, the staining on the sheet and the foreman's news that the view screen had shattered gave the general a better idea of what he was going to see and he steeled himself mentally before pulling the fabric back.

This pilot's face was almost hidden underneath a mask of dried blood. Deep gashes ran through the smooth tissue and splayed open the flesh of cheek and neck – down to the gleaming ivory bone in places. The cause of death was obvious – the major arteries had been nicked in several places, draining the body of its vital fluids. Slowly, Treize drew the sheet further down, wincing at the jagged shards of the screen that had ripped through the uniform and into the slender, still developing figure.

He paused, glancing back up at the face and then along the line of the body, trying to picture this pilot alive and uninjured. The image came to him slowly and he caught his breath.

What he had taken for a young and particularly petite boy, was in fact a girl. Not much into her adolescence, her form was still childlike, but her blood soaked hair would once have been a cloud of dark curls and the shredded wreck of her face showed the promise of maturing into true beauty had she lived a few more years. Treize swallowed hard – it was no surprise to him now that Zechs had looked so shaken, nor that he had seemed so sickened to the sergeant.

Though Une's high rank and Noin's growing reputation were exceptions to the usual career expectations of a woman in the Specials, the Academy gave no weighting to gender when it made its selections and female pilots did exist, though they were out-numbered almost ten to one by their male counterparts. This girl wasn't the first female Treize had seen killed in action, although he was sure she was the first for his friend, but somehow, it was always harder to take. Some deeply old-fashioned part of his soul, though he would never admit to it aloud, rebelled at the thought of sending women to meet such horrible deaths. It offended his sense of chivalry.

He closed his eyes for a moment, offering up a silent prayer for this girl's soul and for those of all the soldiers killed today, stroked her matted hair back from her forehead, and then freed her tags, slipping them with to the others without looking at her name. It would be on the formal death certificate he would sign later and send to her family – most likely it would be in Zechs's report as well – and he would memorise it then, along with those of her companions, but for now, he didn't want a name associated with the ruin of a human being in front of him. Even he required some tricks to help him retain his mental balance sometimes.

He drew the stained sheet back over her face and moved on to the body of Lieutenant-Colonel Locke.

Once he was finished, he came to his feet and turned to face the hangar sergeant, who was still standing behind him, silently waiting.

There was something in the man's eyes that hadn't been there before – a wariness and a growing respect.

Treize inclined his head. "Forgive me but I don't believe I know your name."

"Simmons, sir. Benjamin Simmons."

"Sergeant Simmons – what state are the mobile suits in?"

Simmons shook his head. "We'll have repaired most of them by the end of the week, but there's a few…. In all honesty, sir, we can fix them, but it'd almost be cheaper to replace them completely – the cockpits will have to be ripped out of some of them. Pilots are superstitious, sir. None of them will be happy if they find out they might be given a machine someone died in." He flicked his glance at the bodies, and sighed. "That young lass there, she made it almost all the way back here before she gave up – the major carried her the rest of the way in. Somethin' like that – it's seen as bad luck."

Treize nodded. "Yes, I do remember. It hasn't been so long since I was a pilot myself. Do whatever you think is best, Mr Simmons." He straightened up and took a step past the foreman.

"Uh, sir…"

The man's voice had taken on a hesitant note and Treize turned his head. "Yes?"

"Uhm, your gloves, sir… they…"

Treize looked down and grimaced. The fragile silk acted as a sponge for blood and he had touched a good deal of it in the last few minutes. The pristine fabric was stained bright red. He smiled at the sergeant, but it wasn't a warm smile.

"Appropriate, don't you think? I always have believed God has a dramatic flair." He looked at the sergeant, saw blank incomprehension and shook his head. "Excuse me."

The sergeant watched the slender figure cross the wide hangar and fade into the shadows of the corridor before nodding his head and looking at the junior mechanic who had come to his side. "Proper officers, see," he commented. "Not like those pompous Alliance bastards we worked for before. I don't care what anyone says about how the Specials dress and how young they are, they know what's expected of them and they ain't afraid to get their hands dirty when it's called for." He paused, and then put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come on, back to work."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Treize strode away from the hangar, stripping off his stained gloves as he moved, not wanting the feel of cooling blood against his skin any longer. They would have to be destroyed, he knew - nothing was going to pull this amount of blood from silk. He sighed under his breath, wondering yet again how it was that someone as neat as himself managed to ruin so many pairs of gloves.

He supposed he should be grateful that it was only his gloves that had been exposed; from what he had been told, Zechs had helped in retrieving the girl's body from the cockpit. If that were the case, it was no wonder that he had described his jacket as being saturated. For all that the Specials had designed their uniforms to be hard-wearing, as well as decorative, that quantity of blood was never going to come out without damaging the fabric.

Though the general doubted Zechs would ever want to wear that particular jacket again, regardless.

That thought shattered his attempt to distract himself with minutiae, and he found his heart beating a little faster as his mind flashed back to the sight of his fallen pilots. He could only thank God that one of them hadn't been Zechs, and curse again the necessity of putting people so young into the path of such danger.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

Treize looked up from the soggy material in his hands and winced. Lady Une was standing in the middle of the corridor in front of him and he'd come within an inch of walking into her in his distraction. "Lady! No, nothing wrong – I was merely… thinking."

She lifted her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "About what, sir, if I may ask?"

"The pilots who died this afternoon. One of them was… very young."

She appeared unsurprised by the news that pilots had died that day; rumours travelled very quickly. "No younger than any of us were when we went on our first missions," she pointed out, her face impassive. "They knew the risks when they joined up, sir. We _are _a military organisation, after all."

"That hardly makes it right that pilots barely out of childhood should die so horribly…"

Une frowned to herself, taken aback by this new twist to her commanding officer. There had been times in her career when she had a felt a pang of guilt for sending the men and women under her command out to die – she would have been worried by any officer who never felt such – but she accepted it as necessary to accomplish her missions. Until now, she had thought that Treize regarded it the same way: unfortunate that a pilot-cadet could only be trained to their full potential in early adolescence, when their reflexes were lightning fast and their minds were as malleable as their changing bodies, but there it was. It was necessary, and that was the end of it.

That didn't seem to be the case now.

"Sir? Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked gently.

Treize looked up at her, away from whatever he was holding, and smiled. "Indeed, Lady, there is. Would you go down to the medical wing for me and enquire about the pilots that were injured? I'd like to know how they're doing, and if the doctors need anything they haven't got."

Une nodded her head. "Of course, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No, I don't believe so. Shouldn't you be off duty now?"

"So should you, sir," she pointed out and he laughed his agreement.

Une smiled back, pleased that she had been able to draw Treize out of whatever had been disturbing him so.

"Very true, Lady, very true. An agreement, then? I will go to bed if you do?"

"Yes, sir."

"Done. Good night, my Lady."

"Good night, Mr Treize," she murmured as he brushed past her and then turned to watch as he continued down the passageway.

Still smiling, she made her way to the medical wing, hurrying to obey her orders.

Treize smiled to himself for a little while, but by the time he had reached his rooms, the momentary cheer his encounter with his Aide had engendered had faded away, leaving him feeling tired, a little depressed and somewhat unwell.

He threw his gloves into the bin, slung his cloak over the back of a chair and crossed to his kitchen, searching for something to drink that wasn't either alcoholic or horribly caffeinated. Long experience with drinking potent spirits in large quantities had taught him that he always felt the worse for wear when their effect began to fade, and tonight that feeling was going to be compounded by the fact that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and by the events of the last half hour.

To his surprise, he found bottled fruit juice stored in his fridge, and silently blessed whomever it was that knew him well enough to have ordered it placed there by his maid. Twisting off the cap, he began to sip at the contents as he made his way through to the bathroom and began running water into his bathtub. A second later, however, he switched the taps off and turned on the shower instead.

Unsurprisingly, touching the dead had left Treize with the need to scrub himself clean, and though he would have preferred to soak in his bath for hours, he knew he didn't have the time if he wanted to see Zechs before the younger man retired for the night. The pilot would most likely be worn out and Treize didn't like the idea of him being left alone to try to sleep.

The days they had spent together over Christmas had taught the general a lesson about his companion he hadn't ever considered he would need to learn.

Treize had known the younger man would return from his tour of duty on the L2 colonies exhausted and possibly injured, with the last of his childhood melted away into experience, and he had expected the pilot to be asleep on his feet and perhaps a little withdrawn.

He hadn't been prepared for Zechs to be as badly shaken as he was.

The younger man had been almost unbalanced – traumatised and depressed, and experiencing almost bipolar mood swings. The degree of melodramatic teenage angst that had resulted was something Treize had never thought he would have to deal with from his friend. Zechs was highly strung, yes – weren't they all? – but his behaviour had been alarming.

For the first few days, Treize hadn't, in fact, realised that anything was wrong. Even after their argument at his Christmas Night Ball he had mistakenly put his friend's uncharacteristic emotionality down to tiredness and the sudden progression of their physical relationship. Once it had dawned on him what the problem truly was, Treize had forced the younger man to talk to him, and then had changed his plans for the rest of their break, abandoning his plans for hours of horse-riding, shooting and hiking, and offering instead days of relaxation and gentle distraction. Out of his depth, the general had tried to be supportive until the pilot had regained his equilibrium.

When he did, it had been a relief, but that it had taken so much time after an event as minor as Zechs had experienced was worrying. Having a mission go wrong – especially when it resulted in the injury of one's men – was always upsetting, but if Zechs was going to fall apart like that every time things went badly, then his career had gone as far as it ever would. As Treize knew well from experience, no commander could afford to come un-glued every time a mission went wrong – they had to accept it and move on.

Still ruminating, Treize stripped out of his uniform and stepped under the hot spray. His eyes shut, he tipped his head back and allowed the water to soak into his thick hair and run down his body. Running soap over himself didn't take him very long and in a matter of minutes he was in his dressing room, pulling his brush through his hair and setting it back into place.

The soft, old jumper he drew over his head sparked more recent memories and he found himself smiling as he reflected that not everything about Christmas had been bad.

The hours spent in bed following Zechs's surprising admission of continued virginity on Christmas morning had been thoroughly enjoyable. His friend was a fast learner and a willing, if uncertain, partner, and had taken obvious pleasure in everything they'd done, from simply sleeping in the same bed on.

That morning had led to others of a similar pattern and if the general were honest with himself, there hadn't been many mornings that week that had found them out of bed before lunchtime.

Still smiling, Treize left his rooms and headed across the base to the younger man's. For practical reasons, officers' quarters at the Luxembourg base were scattered all over the complex, as were their offices. The inconvenience of having them working quite some distance apart was offset by the fact that, should a part of the base be destroyed, not every senior officer would be killed – as could very easily happen at some of the less modern stations – and someone would be left alive with enough authority to take command. It made for quite a walk now, though, and Treize took it at a brisk pace, only absently noting the salutes of the men and junior officers he passed as he went.

Three weeks had passed since Christmas – three weeks that had tested Treize's exemplary self-control almost to the limit. His partner was under the legal age of consent for just over another week, and until he turned eighteen on the twenty-third of January, the general couldn't, in fact, make love to him. The tricks he shown the boy – giving him pleasure by hand and with his mouth and having the same returned, somewhat clumsily, Treize had to admit, but with growing skill – were not, for the older man, adequate substitutes for what he truly wanted to do. The slow-burning need that had been triggered in the general on Christmas Eve, when the pilot had unwittingly drawn his body to release, was trying his patience to the limits. He was simply unused to letting it go unanswered like this. For a man in Treize's position, finding a willing partner for a night, or two, was no difficulty, despite how little free time he had. He had influence, charm and was relatively attractive. He also, on the one or two occasions it had come to it, had money to burn.

Still, in the five years since his affair with Leia, Treize hadn't had more than half a dozen partners and it had been quite some time since the last of those. He hated having to admit it, even to himself, but the few times he had managed to arrange anything between himself and the blond since their return to the base, Treize had been rather more aggressive than he should have been.

It didn't help that Zechs, despite being utterly unaware that he was doing so, had the knack of playing to some of his commander's more unusual tendencies.

Abruptly aware that he was about to walk right past the pilot's door, Treize pulled himself to a stop and raised one hand to sound the caller.

It took the blond almost a minute and a half to answer the door; long enough to cause the general to frown in worry.

"Sir?" Zechs looked surprised to see him.

"May I come in?"

The younger man looked him up and down for a moment, registering his lack of uniform with a scowl, before he stepped back and let the other pass.

Treize entered the neat, small rooms and sat himself gracefully in one of the two chairs, watching as the blond dropped into the other. "I didn't disturb you, did I?" he asked, looking at the pilot's rumpled t-shirt and bare feet.

"No, of course not. I was reading."

"Ah, good." Treize leaned back, crossing his legs. "I've been to the hangar…"

Zechs blinked – this wasn't the line of conversation he had been expecting – then shrugged. "I assumed you would – something of a mess, isn't it?"

"Yes, but the mechanics will fix that," the older man agreed. "I sent Une to the medical bay."

"I know, I saw her there."

"Oh?"

"I went after I left you," Zechs explained. "She arrived just as I was leaving. She told me she'd seen you. Actually, she seemed worried about you."

The general smiled. "I ran into her, almost literally, coming from the hangar. I was thinking and she surprised me. I assure you, there was nothing for her to be worried about."

"Good." The younger man got to his feet and went to a pot he had sitting on a table in a corner of the room. "Would you like some coffee?" he offered.

Treize shook his head. "No, thank you."

Zechs blinked again at this unusual response – Treize wasn't giving him the cues he was anticipating tonight – but said nothing, pouring himself a cup and then sitting down again. He took a sip from the liquid without adding either cream or sugar to it and Treize winced – how the boy could drink coffee without sweetening it was beyond him.

Zechs noticed his reaction and smiled. "You're actually my second visitor," he said, putting the cup down. "Noin came by."

"Oh? What did she want?" Treize was surprised – the captain had refused to speak to her friend on Boxing Day and had been rather cold with him for the first few days he had been back on the base. Whatever the offence, it seemed she had forgiven Zechs now since she was knocking on his door, but it was a puzzle to both men what the problem had been in the first place.

"The same thing you do, I would imagine. To see if I was alright. Rumour travels quickly."

"I thought the same thing when I was talking to Une. What did you tell her?"

"That I'm fine and she shouldn't worry about me."

Treize raised one eyebrow. "Was it the truth?" he asked softly.

"More or less," the blond allowed. "I'm not hurt, which is more than can be said for most of the pilots on that mission." He glanced away and swallowed.

Treize waited a moment. "It is," he agreed. "But then, I knew that already and it wasn't what I meant," he pointed out, his gaze gentle.

Zechs offered him a weak smile. "I know." He shrugged. "I've seen worse. If anything, I'm relieved I went – it would have been so much worse if I hadn't."

"More than likely, yes. I doubt any of them would have survived if you hadn't." The older man paused again, then gestured with one hand. "Forgive me for this but…"

"But you were wondering if I was reacting the way I did at Christmas?" Zechs interrupted, smiling slightly.

"Yes."

"I'm not. I _have_ seen worse. Soldiers die, and mobile suit pilots aren't known for leaving pretty corpses."

"Are you sure?"

Zechs sighed and got to his feet. "Treize, what happened on L2 was… different, I promise you. I've never behaved like that before and I won't again. Yes, there were moments this evening that were unpleasant, but I can cope."

The older man gave him a genuine smile. "I'm glad. I've been worried about you."

"I know and I understand why." Zechs returned the smile. "Did you want anything else?"

Treize blinked. "No… that was really about it."

"Oh, then would you…"

"Do you want me to leave?" the general interrupted, surprised.

Zechs shook his head, not meeting the older man's eyes. "No… I'd like you to stay, but I need to go to bed. I have to be up early tomorrow morning."

Treize got to his feet at that, crossed the room and slid an arm around the pilot's waist, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Come on, then. I'll come and talk to you until you fall asleep, if you'd like?"

"Would you mind?" Zechs asked as he led the way through into the small bedroom.

Treize shook his head. "Why would I mind?" He drew the pilot a little tighter against himself and then let him go so Zechs could pull back his sheets and climb into the wide bed, turning on his side to look up questioningly at his commanding officer.

Smiling gently in the dim light, Treize shook his head – he didn't trust himself to get into that bed with the blond. Right now, Zechs didn't need what would probably happen if Treize did, he needed to sleep. Glancing around, Treize pulled the chair from the dresser to the side of the bed, kicked off his boots and folded himself into it, crossing his legs. Propping one elbow on the arm of the chair, he rested his head on his left hand and reached out with the other to run his fingers through the bright fan of the younger officer's hair.

Zechs shifted into his touch, closing his eyes and drawing his covers more closely around himself.

Treize began to murmur quietly, telling his friend about the latest volume of pre-colony poetry he had been reading as the pilot's breathing steadied and he slid into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Zechs drew a sharp, shocked breath as Treize caught him around the waist and pulled them together, fighting to keep his balance, and losing, as the other man yanked off his mask, pushed him towards the sofa Treize always seemed to have in his offices, and down to sit onto the soft cushions.

He couldn't quite believe what the general was doing – though Treize had locked the door, it didn't guarantee their privacy. Une, at least, had the code to override the lock.

Rational thought was driven from him a moment later when the older man kissed him, stroking with his tongue and biting down on the pilot's lower lip gently.

As there had been in every encounter they had shared over the past three weeks or so, there was a sense of restrained desperation about his friend this evening, an air of self-control ruthlessly imposed over something he couldn't name. As Treize went to his knees in front of him, reaching up to kiss him again, Zechs found that, though he had begun to feel more than a little apprehensive as time passed, he was glad there were only a few more days before his birthday, for his friend's sake.

The older man broke his train of thought by ending their kiss, and settling back on his heels between, and with his hands resting on, the pilot's knees. "Have you had a good day?" he asked.

The tone of Treize's smooth voice and the innocent nature of the question were so at odds with the fire of his initial welcome and with the heat still smouldering in his indigo eyes that Zechs could do no more than blink at him for a moment or two, trying to gather his thoughts well enough to reply. It took him almost a full minute to actually remember what he had done that day.

"Relatively, yes," he replied eventually, striving to match Treize's casual tone. "Officer Jankowiak left the medical bay this morning, and will be back to full duty in a week or so."

Treize's eyes lost focus for a second or two as he recalled the name of the last pilot from the rebel cell takedown still in the sickbay. "That's good. Your duty there is done then."

Zechs shook his head. "Not quite yet. I'll see the boy to his next posting first."

The general smiled at him and shook his head in return. "It's done. You mustn't become too attached, Zechs. He might not be so lucky next time."

"I'm aware of that." He paused and then asked, "How was your day?"

"No better than I predicted it would be. I would not object to spending so much of my time in meetings if the people I were meeting with weren't so stubborn. More than four hours of my time and still it will take another two or three encounters such as the last to convince Alliance Command that the rebel forces are on their way to becoming a genuine threat. Mr. Darlian is truly becoming a thorn in my side."

"Darlian?" Zechs asked, feeling a twinge at the name of his sister's foster father.

"The Vice-Foreign minister." Treize shrugged. "The man is determined to believe that the colonies are utterly innocent of any rebellion and seems set upon gutting the military forces, especially the Specials, in his quest to promote pacifism."

"What will you do?"

Treize lifted an eyebrow. "It's not like you to be so curious – I thought you loathed politics?"

"I do, but if it concerns the Specials…"

"Ahh, I see. Enlightened self-interest, hmm?" Treize smiled and then sobered. "For the moment, my friend, I am going to do nothing. Unfortunately, I haven't yet the power I'd need to challenge him and come away unscathed. Noventa listens rather closely to him."

Zechs felt something inside him relax but he frowned as expected. "Perhaps the problem will take care of itself, then. Surely, if the rebel forces continue to grow in strength and Darlian continues to insist they are no threat, it won't be long before he begins to look a fool?"

"One can hope for such an outcome. I think it more likely that I will be forced to deal with him personally at some point in the future. Already, I have ordered that he be investigated. If I can discredit him, so much the better." He glanced away for a moment and then looked back at Zechs with a smile. "But, enough of work. I have other things I would rather be doing."

"You do?"

"Yes. Assuming your co-operation, of course."

"Of course. What were you thinking of?" From somewhere, Zechs managed to summon a tone that was almost coy in nature.

Treize's smile took on a mischievous twist. "Whatever comes to mind, my friend. The door is locked and Lady Une is trapped in a conference for the next hour. We will not be disturbed."

Zechs bit his lip, fighting down vivid images from some of his more outrageous fantasies as he glanced around the elegant office. "Must we stay here?" he asked.

Treize shrugged. "Not particularly, no. I merely thought it would be… easier."

"Easier?"

The general was suddenly on his feet and pacing across the room. Zechs watched him go, concerned by the nervous edge to the usually fluid movements.

"Yes," Treize agreed. "Forgive me, but I cannot afford to be out of contact tonight the way I would be in your rooms, and since I must leave for Lvov in the morning and won't be back for a week, I thought you might like to spend the evening together."

The pilot sat up straight, frowning. "I would like to but must it be here? Couldn't we go to your rooms?"

The older man stared out of the window for a moment and then shook his head. "I would… rather not, Zechs." Slowly, he turned back to face the younger man and picked up something from his desk. The dying evening light lit him from behind, casting his face and his hands into shadow, and haloing the outline of his form in fire. "This is a less encouraging environment." He paused and drew an audible breath. "I do not entirely trust myself with you at the moment."

It was a surprising admission from a man who near-to personified flawless control for the pilot. He closed his eyes as twin sparks of fear and arousal flashed through him – Treize would not have confessed to such a thing if it weren't true, and the knowledge that he could have so profound an effect was thrilling, even as the thought of the older man losing his hold on himself was unnerving.

He looked back to the figure still standing behind the desk and shook his head. "I will not let anything happen that should not and I can't believe you would press me if I told you to stop."

"Can't you?"

Zechs narrowed his eyes. Treize's honeyed tenor had taken on the darker note he had heard several times before. The younger man was sure it was an indicator of something but he had no experience to draw on for an explanation, and every time he began to ask his companion for one, he was skilfully distracted.

The older officer stepped from in front of the window and the pilot could see that the object he was holding in his hands was the antique duelling stiletto he used to open envelopes, and that he was playing it between his fingers, causing the light to flash from its razor edge as it moved.

"You should perhaps start to believe it, then. 'Stop' does not always mean what it says."

The soldier in Zechs could not take his eyes from the blade in the other man's hands, the childhood friend would not accept that Treize would hurt him. "If I say it, I will mean it," he confirmed.

"Yes."

Cool blue eyes hardened. "And what does that mean?"

"Whatever you choose for it to mean. True passion is as the breath of God in your soul, mein liebe, but like so many divine gifts, it pays little heed to the restrictions of the mortal world." Treize had moved as he spoke, closing the distance between them so that Zechs had to tilt his head back to look into his eyes. For a moment, the force of the general's gaze pinned Zechs to his place on the sofa, trapping him as surely as steel cuffs, and he began to learn what a dangerous game he was playing.

Then the moment was gone.

Zechs jumped to his feet, body brushing the other man's in the small space Treize had left. The pilot closed his hand around Treize's wrist, digging his fingers into the nerve points there, and the knife fell from the abruptly nerveless grip and clattered to the floor.

Treize stared down at their twined hands for the space of a heartbeat, his breathing swift and shallow and drowningly loud in the silent room, and then he twisted free, locked his arms around the younger man and kissed him, his mouth insistent.

Zechs gave in without thinking, then cried out, startled, as one booted foot took his legs from under him and he landed on the yielding surface of the settee, his commander's lithe weight pressing him down.

Strong fingers tore at the fastenings of his clothes, making short work of ridding him of his belt, jacket, boots and shirt even as he fought for enough co-ordination to return the favour. Treize had shifted his mouth to Zechs's throat, nibbling and soothing as he went, and now he moved to his shoulder. He bit down on the edge of the pilot's collarbone and the pain made Zechs squirm and wind his hands into the general's copper-tinged hair to try to pull Treize's head up.

Their eyes met, gazes locking, for an instant, before Treize closed his and rested his forehead on the other man's shoulder. "Mein Gott, Mein Gott... ich kann nicht… es ist zu viel!" he gasped.

Zechs fought back his need to move – either to escape the restraint, or to seek relief – and forced his body to stillness, combing his fingers through the cinnamon strands they held, in what he hoped was soothing fashion. "What can't you?" he asked, dredging what little of Treize's native tongue he had learned over the years from his memory to translate his commander's plea. "What's too much?"

Powerful hands began moving over the blonde's bare skin and Zechs caught his breath. "Treize?" he prompted, hating the nervous edge to his voice.

"This. You," the general finally murmured and lifted his head.

Zechs swallowed. There was nothing of the man he knew in those eyes. Nothing, save perhaps fear, that he recognised at all.

Treize held his gaze a moment more, then looked away. "Keep your promise, Milliardo," he begged.

"My promise?" Zechs asked.

"Stop me before I go too far…" Treize whispered, and then he kissed him again.

For the first time in years, Treize abandoned all of his discipline, yielding to the need that had been building in him in the months since he had first kissed his childhood friend, and that had become unbearable in the last few weeks.

He hadn't intended for this to happen tonight – hadn't, in truth, ever intended to allow Zechs to see this side of him – but he supposed, in what little part of his mind that was still his to suppose with, that he should have known better than to assume he could deny something he had acknowledged was a part of him since just after his fifteenth birthday.

Trusting the younger man to keep his promise, in a way he had never before trusted anyone, Treize poured everything he was feeling into his kiss, felt the pilot answer it in kind, and shut his mind down completely, allowing instinct to rule him.

Zechs reacted to this kiss as he had to their first, surprise freezing him for the first few seconds as sensation swept through him. He had thought he had seen Treize lose his ever-present reserve on more than one occasion over the past month, but, if what he was seeing tonight was Treize letting go, then he hadn't even come close, despite the number of times they had lingered in bed past lunch in the week between Christmas and the New Year.

He had learned quickly during those mornings, discovering that he liked touching his friend as he had been taught to, that he enjoyed pleasing him and watching him peak. Knowing that he could bring the older man to climax was a fulfilment of a different, but no less satisfying, type.

Still, he had known that his commander had always held some part of himself in check and had been aware that the effort was becoming trying for him. He hadn't expected to see that restraint fail so suddenly and he certainly hadn't ever imagined this would be the result. The man in his arms was ruthless, insistent in a way Treize had never been with him, demanding Zechs's reactions from him, and simply taking what he wanted in return. Treize's hands were playing over his body, edging lower with every touch, sometimes gripping hard enough that Zechs was sure he would be bruised in the morning, and he was biting him, little stinging nips of his teeth that marked a line down the pilot's chest until his mouth met his hands just above the fastening of the younger man's pants.

The younger officer caught his breath, all his muscles tensing. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Treize didn't look up. "Nothing I haven't done before," he purred, his fingers finding the concealed clasp and yanking it loose.

Zechs shivered as warm breath and teasing fingers brushed over him, drawing eager reaction from his body. In this case, the flesh was definitely willing, it was the rest of him that didn't think this was a good idea. "Treize – I'm not sure…"

"I am."

The older man tugged at his trousers, pulling them down and off, leaving the blond without a stitch of clothing. Looking up, he smiled at Zechs in what could only be described as feral fashion and went to his knees on the carpeted floor at the side of the sofa with lithe grace.

"Sit up," he directed softly.

Zechs hesitated, caught between his mounting physical need and his fear of the consequences should they be found. Treize lost his smile, his rich blue eyes clouding with shadows as he knelt up slowly and removed his jacket and cravat.

"Do as I say," he commanded, naked steel beneath his velvet voice, and Zechs obeyed with the reflexive snap of a soldier trained to jump at his superior's instructions.

The predatory expression returned. "Much better."

Treize came closer, leaning forward until he was near enough to kiss the pilot, holding his gaze. One agile hand stroked through the loose platinum strands of hair until the wary tension faded from the boy's form and his eyes drifted closed. Though the other couldn't see it, Treize smiled again and wrapped the strands of hair tightly around his fingers.

"Milliardo…" he breathed, blowing the warmth of his breath across the blonde's lips.

Zechs opened his eyes.

Treize jerked hard on his handful of hair, pleased when the junior officer gave a pained yelp.

"What the hell…?"

"Shh, my love. I won't hurt you if you do what I ask."

Anger began to war with the arousal and the fear and Zechs tried to sit up, moving to push the general away from him, stopping abruptly when he felt another sharp pull on his scalp.

"Be still, Milliardo. Don't move, don't speak – all I need you to do is feel."

The hand in his hair let go but before Zechs could take advantage of his freedom, he found his wrists pinned to the sofa at his sides.

"I can hold you here, if I have to – you know that. Be still."

Zechs fought against the grip as he had once before, on Christmas Eve. Now, as then, no matter how hard he strained, though he could lift his wrists a little way, he simply couldn't break the hold the elder officer had on him.

Treize watched his attempts with hooded eyes, bearing down with his weight, only the slightest tint of colour to his face betraying how he was affected. The boy was so delightfully pretty in his struggling, throwing all of his not-inconsiderable strength into the effort and still finding himself mastered. A glimmer of true panic flared in the husky-pale gaze and Treize shivered as he responded, catching a soft moan in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment.

The pilot went suddenly still and the general looked up to see that he was being stared at.

Zechs's sensitive ears had caught the bitten off sound and surprise chased through him. He'd been privileged enough to hear that sound from his friend before – in bed, as a sign that whatever was happening was good enough to make desire override Treize's inherent dignity.

He stopped fighting, sweeping his eyes over his commander, and was taken aback by what he saw. Treize opened his eyes and the expression in them was drugged.

They looked at each other for a moment or two, then Zechs shifted his weight a little, frowning as he thought back over the past few months and began to understand little things that had bothered him about his lover. He drew a breath to speak and cried out in shock instead as Treize bent his head and took him in his mouth.

The heated suction of the general's lips and the wet pressure of his tongue as he stroked with it shot lightning through the pilot's nerves, stoking the fires of arousal that had begun to fade away. Zechs's body hardened again under the touch and his ability to think deserted him as he threw his head back against the sofa and scrabbled for an anchor with his fingers.

Treize lifted the pilot's wrists, put them together resting on his stomach and pinned them there with his left hand. His right closed around Zechs, just below his mouth, and began stroking in time.

"Oh, God!"

Treize picked up the pace without faltering in his rhythm, showing none of the consideration he had displayed the first time he had done this to his friend. Then, he had taken it almost too slowly, encouraging Zechs through the unfamiliar sensations, backing off when they threatened to become too much, and constantly reassuring the younger man that he genuinely did enjoy what he was doing. Now, he offered no support, showed no sign of taking things slowly and made it obvious that he liked what he was doing by the low noises he was making in the back of his throat.

"Oh, God! Treize!"

The general lifted his eyes to look at the blond and then pulled his mouth away.

"Forgive me for this, my love…" he murmured.

"What…?"

Treize let go of Zechs's wrists, traded his right hand for his left and lowered his head again, unexpectedly giving a low moan.

It took the pilot a moment or two to realise that the general had freed himself from his clothing and was touching himself in time with the movements of his mouth.

"Oh, my God…" The younger man swallowed hard, caught between closing his eyes to concentrate on what he was feeling, and leaving them open to watch as his commander worked his own body. "Treize, you don't have to… I can…"

The older man shook his head.

Zechs fell back into the cushions, stunned that Treize would allow him to see something so very personal and private, watching until his body began to scream at him and he was forced to shut his eyes. In minutes, he was panting his friend's name and catching at his hair in warning, dimly aware that his moans of pleasure were being matched by Treize's own soft, muffled cries. His body tightened and his climax took him, spilling his fluid into his lover's mouth.

Zechs came back to himself slowly, forcing his eyes open to watch as the other man let him go and put his freed hand on the edge of the sofa for balance. With effort, the pilot heaved his body upright, and then slid to the floor to kneel beside his friend and wrap an arm around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him hard for a second. Treize rested his head on Zechs's shoulder and let him take his weight, crying out once and going completely still as he came.

They clung to each other for a space of time and then, as Treize began to shake, Zechs groped around behind him and located his discarded cravat, using it to wipe his stomach and the other man's hand clean.

"Mein Gott!"

Zechs got to his feet, chuckling at his friend's breathless exclamation as he picked up his clothes and slid back into them. Once halfway decent, he crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured a generous amount of Cognac into one of the glasses.

By the time he turned around again, Treize had moved from the floor and was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes covered by the back of one arm.

The pilot sat down next to him and nudged him to get his attention. He passed the glass into Treize's trembling hands and gave the older man another minute to pull himself together before asking, "Can you explain what just happened, please?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Zechs waiting patiently, Treize staring at the floor and occasionally taking sips from the glass he held. Gradually, the tremors faded from his body and he looked up.

"What do you wish me to explain?" he asked, his voice low.

Zechs shrugged. "A good many things, I would imagine. For now, I'll be content with you telling me what all that was about."

Treize got to his feet and crossed the room to the cabinet he kept his alcohol in, pouring more of the rich amber liquor into the tumbler. He turned and leaned against the side of the unit for a moment as he studied his companion over the rim of the tumbler. A flick of his wrist drained the glass and he stared at it sombrely. "I do wish I didn't have to go to Lvov tomorrow. I've never seen a situation that called more for me to be utterly drunk than this one." He paused. "Would you like to join me?"

"No. Treize…"

The general set the glass on the top of the cabinet and held up a hand to stop the younger man in mid-word. "Control, Milliardo," he murmured. "This is about control." He straightened up, regaining his customary parade-ground posture. "And possibly about the fact that I've spent too much time alone in the past few years," he added, smiling bitterly.

He watched as the younger man shifted his weight, his face stilling into un-readability.

"You have?" Zechs asked. "I would have said exactly the opposite was true. You never seem to be alone. I don't… understand," he admitted.

Treize seemed to hesitate, turning his head to look out of the window at the spot lit gardens. "No, perhaps you don't," he sighed. "I wasn't speaking of literal loneliness, Zechs. You are right. I have very little time to myself. I meant, rather, that few and far between have been the opportunities for me to share the company of another person."

Zechs raised an eyebrow. "Is that your euphemism for sex?" he asked, fighting the urge to giggle stupidly. If Treize regarded Zechs as adult enough to discuss this with, then the pilot would force himself to behave accordingly.

The general flicked his gaze to him and frowned. "Nothing so crude, Zechs, nor so simplistic," he admonished and sighed again.

Coming back to the couch, he sat down next to the younger man again and brushed back a strand of Zechs's hair. "I should have explained all this to you weeks ago, but I couldn't seem to find the right moment to raise the subject."

"Then tell me now."

The general drew a deep breath and tilted his head. "These past few months, have you found it straightforward to lead your troops?" he asked.

Zechs blinked. "Relatively, I suppose."

"Then you find command easy?"

"I – yes, most of the time. Why?"

"I find command effortless. I always have."

The pilot scowled, wondering what this had to do with his explanation. "Of course you do. There had to be some reason why you were made Commander-in-Chief of an elite unit at twenty-two!" he replied, his voice utterly dry.

Treize didn't react. "Yes. However, I wasn't referring only to the military, Zechs, but to everything. Command is almost instinctive for me. I control every situation I find myself in."

The younger man bit his lip, regretting his previous mockery. "If that's true, how did you ever make it through the Academy? A cadet who cannot obey his officers is a sure failure."

"And with reason – a soldier who will question before he obeys will be a danger to himself and to others, given that he will often be operating from incomplete information." Treize sighed softly. "I haven't said that I can't obey others. I can, although I've never found it easy and I tolerate incompetence even less well than you do." He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes. "Forgive me for rambling, but you must… Understand that it's taken me more than a few years to clarify this for myself and that I've never tried to explain it to anyone else."

Zechs nodded, somehow knowing how great a strain this was placing on the elder man. He didn't think he had ever seen Treize struggle so with anything – and the pilot had seen him face everything from Academy Finals to attempts on his life.

He took a steadying breath and tried to will away some of his irritation.

Treize bit his lip. "I can obey others. I can give over authority to someone else. But I have to make the choice to do so. It's a conscious decision, every single time. I can turn over command, so long as I retain control. Or so long as it's my decision to give that control away."

Zechs shook his head. "I don't understand, Treize. I can see why you wouldn't like taking orders but…"

"Zechs, forget the military for a moment. I'm speaking far more broadly than that. I have an… obsession – though that is a poor choice of word – with control, with the balance of power. I can relinquish control to another, though I rarely choose to do so, because the act of choosing to let that control go means that it is, in fact, still mine."

Treize looked up to see the younger man staring at him, his eyes wide, and sighed, suddenly tired to the point of exhaustion. "Tonight was… tonight was my attempt to restore my control over what's happening between us, to try to burn out some of what I'm feeling before…"

Zechs put a hand out, then hesitated. "Treize? How are you not in control of what's happening between us? You've decided everything we've done, taught me…"

Treize smiled at him. "Have I? Only because you let me, love. You said it yourself. If you told me to stop, I would."

The pilot blinked. "I… hadn't thought of it like that."

"I know you hadn't – I didn't expect that you would have – but it proves my point. Control of a situation does not necessarily rest with the person in charge."

"I…see."

"Do you? I hope so. I… needed what happened tonight more than I think you can know. I needed to command you like that… and I needed to know I could let my control go and trust you with it instead." His voice caught, then came back. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, or if I've… upset you. I never intended any of this…"

Zechs shook his head, trying to comprehend what Treize was saying. "You didn't hurt me," he reassured. "Not really. Treize?"

"Yes?"

The pilot hesitated, knowing what he was about to ask was highly personal. "I'm sorry if I have this wrong, but…"

Midnight eyes regarded him steadily. "Go on."

"You seemed to _like_ making me do what you wanted. It seemed as though it… worked for you…?" Zechs hated the way he stumbled over the words, knowing he was blushing.

Treize merely smiled at him gently. "I found it arousing, yes," he agreed.

"Why?"

"For all the reasons we've been discussing. Think who you are, Zechs. I doubt there are many who could honestly say they wouldn't like to be able to tame the Lightning Baron and make him obey them."

The pilot started. "'Tame' me? I don't think…"

"Zechs! Shh. I was making a point, nothing more." He waited a heartbeat and then continued. "It's a game, my friend, that's all. One that quite a few people play to one degree or another – I just happen to appreciate it more than most. It suits me well that I can command another person completely to my bidding and yet hand over all true authority to them – or that, in reverse, I can submit to another's bidding and, in doing so, retain absolute control. It helps that I find the edge of fear and the touch of pain that can be involved rather arousing."

"I… see."

Treize smiled. "I think you begin to." He got to his feet and offered the younger man his hand. "If you'll come with me, I have a book or two in my rooms that you may like to read whilst I'm gone."

Zechs took the hand, letting his commander pull him to his feet, and then collected his jacket and belt from the floor, sliding his helmet over his head again. Treize left his coat where it was, telling the younger man that he intended to return to his office that night, and so must still have work to do before he could go to bed.

As they made their way along the corridors, a thought occurred to Zechs that made him cringe a little. He looked away, trying to hide the reaction, but the general caught it anyway.

"Tell me, Zechs," he insisted.

"Ah… Will it always be like that between us now?"

Treize chuckled in response. "Oh, no! No, not at all, I promise. I'm rarely so aggressive. For the most part, things will be as they have been." He paused to unlock his door.

"I don't mind!" Zechs jumped in, hastening to reassure. "Now that I know what's happening."

Treize canted him the gentle smile again. "I can't say it doesn't please me to hear you say that, but truly, it won't be much of an issue. I've only ever had one partner who would indulge me in that sense. What happened tonight was a combination of things, not the least of which was frustration. You're the first person I've touched in quite some time and you're a damned hard man to wait for!"

To his surprise, Zechs found himself laughing aloud. Treize shot him a look of disgruntled amusement as they walked in through the door and waved him to a chair as he crossed the room to the bookcase that lined one of the walls.

Running his fingers along the spines of the books shelved there, Treize pulled two from their places and handed them to the blond. "Those should clarify things for you – I have others, if you want them when you're finished with those."

Zechs took the books, one of them an obviously old and valuable volume, from him and smiled. "Thank you."

Treize glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and grimaced. "Much as I hate to say goodbye to you, I'm afraid I'm going to have to. I have quite a few things I must do before I leave and I have to be on the plane in a little over eight hours."

Zechs nodded and got to his feet. "I'll go then. Treize?"

The general was standing with his back to the younger man, looking through a drawer. "Yes?"

"I think I understand why you like politics so much now. It's the behind-the-scenes power plays, isn't it? The game of bending other people to what you want?"

Treize turned around slowly, his eyes wide. "You _do_ understand!" The expression in his gaze made the pilot shiver a touch in the warm air.

The general waited a beat, then crossed the room to his companion and kissed him. "Good night, Milliardo. I'll keep in contact and I'll see you when I get back."

"I hope things go well."

"So do I!"

He began to lean in again as the younger man opened the door, then stopped when Zechs began to speak.

"I have a question. If you find politics so arousing, doesn't that make all those meetings you go to rather… uncomfortable?"

Treize stared at him for a moment, stunned, and then began to laugh. "Zechs!"

The pilot backed out the room. "Good night, sir!"

888888888888888888888888

Noin made her way through the brightly lit passageways, hurrying back to her rooms after her weekly session in the base training facilities, her hair still damp around her face from the shower she had taken after her workout.

The past few weeks had been hard for her; she'd had continuing difficulty sleeping at night and had taken to spending her time either in the library or on the internet, searching for confirmation of information she knew she had never been meant to have.

Laughter echoed down the corridor towards her and she looked up from the progression of her booted feet along the carpet to see where it had come from.

"Zechs!"

Her Commander-in Chief's voice caused her spine to stiffen and her hands to neaten her uniform, never mind the fact that it was late in the evening and that she had, technically, been off duty for hours. A flash of white-gold hair in the glow of the strip lights made her breath catch in her throat and she stopped to watch as the rest of her former classmate's slender figure danced into view, one hand on the door to his general's rooms.

"Good night, sir!" The pilot's rich voice rang with amusement and Noin knew she was smiling despite herself.

Zechs let go of Treize's door as the general came into view and began to walk away.

Noin dragged herself from her frozen surprise at the playfulness the two men were exhibiting and continued on her way along the corridor. "Good evening, sir," she greeted as she passed her commander and he smiled at her, genuine warmth in his eyes as he nodded in reply.

"Lucrezia."

His attention went back to the figure of the pilot until he turned the corner and then Treize went back into his rooms. Only after the general closed his door did it dawn on her that he'd been clad only in his shirtsleeves.

Frowning, she picked up her pace and caught up with the blond as he hit the button that would call the lift to this level. "Hello, Zechs."

"Noin! What are you doing here?"

"On my way back to my rooms. What did Mr. Treize want?"

There was silence for a moment or two, and though she couldn't see his eyes, she got the impression that he'd looked away. "Merely to say goodbye – he leaves for Lvov in the morning."

"Oh, right." She looked at him carefully as they got into the lift, noting that, like his commander, he wasn't wearing his jacket, but carrying it over his arm, half hiding whatever he was holding in his hand.

"What have you got there?" she quizzed, curious.

"Books. Treize gave them to me to read whilst he's away."

She nodded, letting him believe she accepted his explanation, but in the privacy of her thoughts she was alternating between being furious at the pair of them, and being terribly afraid for them.

"Noin? Is something wrong?"

Startled, she looked up. There was real concern in the pilot's voice, a gentle note she'd only ever heard from him once or twice in the past. "I'm fine, Zechs."

He frowned at her answer and gestured with his free hand. "You've seemed… unhappy lately. Have I done something to upset you?"

Noin caught her breath, sudden tears stinging the corners of her eyes, and turned her head to study the button panel on the wall of the lift. No matter what else, she wouldn't let him see how much he affected her.

"Noin?"

She heard him come a pace or two closer to her and stiffened when she felt the wash of heat from his body against her spine. "I'm fine, Zechs."

"You aren't. You haven't been since Christmas." His voice became softer. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong? If it is something I've said or done, I'd like to try to put it right."

Damn him! How did he do this to her? How did he always seem to know exactly what she couldn't fail to respond to?

She'd sworn, in the early hours of Boxing Day morning, that she wasn't going to be such a fool for him anymore, but….

The lift came to a halt.

She heard the doors swish open but she couldn't make herself move until a gentle hand fell on her shoulder and tugged. She closed her eyes and a single tear slipped free. She raised her hand to cuff it away and his fingers tightened.

"Noin, come with me. You can't stay in the lift all night."

He was right.

Slowly, her body became less leaden and she let him steer her along the corridor, following his gentle urgings until they reached his rooms.

He let her in and then brushed past her, heading for his bedroom where he threw his jacket onto his bed and set the books carefully onto his side table.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked her, walking past her again on his way to his kitchen.

Noin nodded and then sank into the nearest chair, noting that although their rooms were, for all intents and purposes, identical, his seemed far more like a true home. It was an odd observation given everything else she knew about him. She honestly wouldn't have thought he'd have bothered to take such time with a room that would be his only temporarily.

Zechs came back into the sitting room a few minutes later carrying two cups of coffee. She took hers from him, and almost spilled it all over herself when she realised he'd taken off his mask at some point and was watching her with worry in the eyes that were half hidden behind his fringe.

Something inside her unknotted at the expression and she tried to smile – whatever else might be happening, he was concerned about her, and that meant that he was still her friend. It was reason enough for hope.

"I'm just being silly, Zechs," she murmured. "Really, I'm fine."

He shook his head. "If you don't want to tell me, I'll understand, but you aren't fine. You've been so distant lately…"

He sounded almost upset by that, she realised. Slowly, she smiled at him, finding that it took far less effort now. "I've been busy," she told him. "I had some things I wanted to look into."

"Oh? For what?" He set his cup down on the carpet at his feet. "Anything I can help with?"

He seemed so open, so honestly willing to help her that she felt her face heat. "Maybe," she admitted, taking the opening he had given her.

"Well, if I can, I will. Just ask me."

She looked down into the contents of the cup, hoping that the play of the light on the surface of the coffee it held would give her a sign as to whether she was right to do what she was about to. There was nothing there except her reflection.

It didn't matter – she'd been wondering for weeks now how she was going to bring this subject up between them and he'd just given her the perfect opportunity. Now, if she could just manage this without letting him know how she'd found out….

"It started at Mr. Treize's Christmas Party, really. I had no idea he was related to so many influential people! It got me thinking – have you noticed that almost all of the Specials come from the Aristocracy?"

He nodded, picking up his cup again. "Of course I have. It was deliberately set up that way, Noin. You know that."

"I know. I just hadn't really realised it until Christmas night, you know. Seeing all those people in one place just made me think."

"Really." Zechs's voice was utterly without expression but there was something in his eyes that warned her to be careful. He was wary now, guarding himself.

"It was Mr. Treize that really caught my attention though," she added quickly, choosing to attack the subject in a roundabout fashion. "I didn't know he was related to General Catalonia until I was speaking to Dorothy. She calls him Uncle Treize… it's so sweet!"

"Is it?"

"I think so. She really looks up to him, and to you. She seems to regard you both as her personal heroes. She told me she wanted to join the Specials but her father wouldn't let her."

"No, he wouldn't."

Noin swallowed. Zechs was sitting completely still, never taking his eyes off her. It was more than a bit unnerving.

"Well, I think it's a shame. She's really interested in the military and I think she'd have made a good Officer – she's very quick." She paused and took a mouthful of her coffee before carrying on. "She's a bit of a puzzle though. I mean, she's the daughter of General Catalonia, and Duke Dermail's granddaughter, but she calls Mr. Treize 'uncle'. I thought Mr. Treize was Duke Dermail's nephew?"

"He is. His mother, Lady Anna, was the Duke's sister."

"Oh?" she asked, trying to sound as through she didn't already know. "Then how can Dorothy be his niece?"

"Obviously, one of her parents would have to be Treize's sibling."

"But, he doesn't have any…" she began, keeping her voice puzzled.

"No, he doesn't." Zechs broke in. "She isn't his niece, Noin. She's his cousin, once removed. She just happens to call him Uncle – mainly because it annoys him."

Noin forced herself to laugh. "Oh, well, that explains it! Maybe I should have asked you in the first place instead of spending so much time looking at all those family trees. I couldn't make head or tail of most of them, they're so complicated!"

Zechs's sharp eyes were half-closed and he seemed relaxed against the soft cushions of his chair, but Noin wasn't reassured. She'd spent too much time with him in the past five years to be fooled, had seen him move from that very position into blinding assault, whether physical or verbal, once too often.

"Are they? I never found them particularly so," he replied, his voice utterly cool.

"Must just be me then. I've never been any good with charts, you know that."

"Do I?" He leaned forward, holding her eyes with his. "Noin, where is this going? I can't believe that a sudden fascination for Treize's family connections is responsible for the way you've been acting."

Noin froze, feeling her skin grow clammy. She laughed, hating how nervous she sounded. "Honestly? I was embarrassed! I had this theory that you and Dorothy must be related, because your hair and hers look so much the same, and because you seemed to know Duke Dermail and his wife so well." She laughed again. "I was trying to find out where you fit in; I could have sworn you told me once that you were related to Treize somehow, but my memory must be going. I couldn't find you anywhere on the charts. The name 'Marquise' doesn't crop up at all, not anywhere in the Peerage."

Zechs smiled very slightly but it wasn't friendly. "It wouldn't," he murmured. "I wish you'd just asked me about this, Noin, it would have saved both of us a lot of worry."

"Well, yes, I know that now." She looked down. "I just… didn't want you to think me silly for wanting to know."

"I don't think you're silly, Noin. I've always regarded you as very intelligent and I know Treize thinks the same thing."

She blushed at the praise, before it occurred to her that it hadn't been a compliment at all, but a warning. "Will you tell me, then?" she asked.

Zechs drained his cup and set it down. "If you really want to know."

"Please?"

"Alright. Yes, Treize and I are related – we're cousins of a sort, and so are Dorothy and I – but you won't find me on the charts and you won't find the name Marquise in the Peerage. My mother was one of the Khushrenada cousins." He paused and took a deep breath. "She got herself pregnant when she was very young by her lover. He was a soldier, with nothing in his background to make him a suitable match for her, but they might have married anyway if he hadn't gotten himself killed in action before I was born. I'm told it drove her to madness and I suppose it must have. She killed herself when I was three months old and her mother took care of me instead. When she died, Treize's mother raised a ruckus and insisted that, illegitimate or not, I was Khushrenada Blood, and shouldn't be abandoned to some orphanage. Dorothy's mother, Lady Mariel, supported her. Together, they worked on Tristan, Treize's father, and eventually he agreed. I was six when I moved in with them."

Noin listened to all this with a growing sense of amazement. It was a very cleverly crafted story, supplying just enough information that was probably true, in combination with just the right measure of slightly scandalous fiction. No-one of casual acquaintance could hope to see through it.

Zechs suddenly looked away, his eyes softening for a moment. "Lady Anna fought her husband in order to take me in, maintaining that she owed my mother that much for the friendship she and Lady Mariel had shared with her as girls. But she told me just before she died that, in truth, it was Treize who won his father over."

The captain felt a pang – that, she knew, was almost certainly true. Skilled actor that he had proven himself to be in the past few minutes, Noin was willing to bet that Zechs couldn't fake the tone to his voice, nor the look on his face.

She watched him, amazed at the depth of emotion he was currently displaying, and realised with a pang that what she had seen on Christmas Night was only the barest hint of what was truly going on between the two men. Treize had been everything to Zechs from early childhood: friend, mentor, confidante, elder brother, protector – literally, it seemed, his saviour. She had known the bonds between them ran deep, had seen Treize's almost paternal affection many times, and had always wondered at the source of their connection. Now she knew, and it broke her heart.

With all that between them, it was only logical that their relationship should shift in nature as they grew older. Only logical that Zechs would turn to the one person he trusted absolutely to be his first love and, unless she'd missed something over the years, his first lover.

She hadn't seen it, but she should have – years ago. The spark had been between the two men even when she had first met the pilot, when they were twelve years old.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought the tears that threatened again as she realised that she had never stood a chance at winning his heart and, simultaneously, that his choice of her as his friend was truly an amazing privilege. Silently, she vowed then and there that, even if he never so much as considered her as more than a friend, she would stand by his side for as long as she could and love him just as fiercely as she would have anyway.

"Noin?"

Zechs's rich voice pulled her from her promise, and she looked at him with wide eyes. She'd been so focused on thinking about him that she'd almost forgotten he was there and his voice had taken her by surprise.

"Noin… are you crying?" he asked, sounding softly startled.

She wiped her face and forced a smile. "No, of course not. I've just got dust in my eye or something."

Zechs got to his feet and came to kneel by her side. "Noin, please. I thought our friendship was worth more than that. Don't lie to me."

She looked up at him, wondering if he recognised the irony in that statement when everything he had said to her in the last twenty minutes had been, at the least, a very warped version of the truth. Resentment rose, turning her words harsh. "I said I'm fine, Zechs, and I am. Really. There's nothing for you to worry about."

He recoiled from the snap to her voice, blinking. "Noin?"

"Zechs… not now, alright?" She got to her feet and turned towards the door, desperate to escape before her fragile façade of composure gave way and she made an utter fool of herself.

Zechs reached out and caught her arm, forcing her to turn and look at him.

"Don't go. I'll drop it, I promise. I just… I thought you trusted me more than this, that's all."

His eyes were sad though his hand felt warm and strong. There was a tremor in his voice – she'd hurt him, and the realisation made her suddenly furious with him.

"Trust!" she exploded, yanking her arm free and falling back a pace. "_I _don't trust _you_?! You bastard!"

He looked utterly shocked. "Noin?"

"You have no right! No right at all to preach about the value of our friendship, about how I shouldn't lie to you, about how I should trust you! Those things are only worth something when they go both ways, Zechs!"

The look in his eyes made her start to cry again and she dashed her tears away angrily, fighting to breathe through her sobs.

"Noin… Lucrezia… please… I don't…."

"Don't you dare! If you even attempt to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll leave and never speak to you again!"

"What _are_ you talking about!?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about _Milliardo Peacecraft_!!"

He reacted as though she had burned him. His entire body went rigid, one hand coming up as though to ward off a blow. "Noin, please! Don't…"

"Don't what?!" she snarled. "How dare you ask me not to lie to you, when you've been lying to me from the moment you told me your name…" she swept him a perfect curtsey, full of mockery, "… Your Royal Highness!!"

The crack of his hand across her face sounded as a rifle shot in the silence that followed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Zechs pulled his hand back, his eyes, wide in horror, fixed on it as he stumbled back a few steps. After a moment his gaze flicked up to Noin and locked onto the outline of his fingers, blooming red across her cheek.

"My God! Noin… I'm sorry…!"

His voice broke Noin out of the frozen shock she had retreated to and she stepped towards him, furious. "You bastard!" she hissed and drove her fist up and into his stomach.

He folded, and then staggered as her booted foot caught him in the jaw, the force of the kick snapping his head around.

The perfectly executed roundhouse would have made her personal-defence instructor proud.

The blond groaned, putting a hand to his mouth and the other on his abdomen as he straightened up slowly, clearly in pain. Her blow to his face had split his lip and he wiped away the trace of blood that had spilt with his fingers.

"Fucking hell, woman!" he gasped and coughed, plainly winded.

"Don't you dare ever hit me again!" she spat in reply.

He stared at her for a minute, and then looked away. "Noin, I…" he began.

"I mean it," she interrupted.

He nodded slowly as he wobbled to his chair and collapsed into it

Noin watched graceless movement, and fund herself suddenly smiling at the picture he made. "Next time, I won't stop at a split lip and a bruised ego," she quipped.

"There won't be a next time. I promise," Zechs replied and his voice was low than normal, quieter than it should have been.

"Good," Noin agreed, frowning at the distant, vacant look in the eyes that were usually so intense – just what thoughts had her careless words triggered in his head. What sort of nightmare was necessary to make Zechs seem so shattered?

"When did you learn to do that, anyway?" Zechs asked eventually, closing his eyes as he spoke.

Noin forced a chuckle as she answered the question she suspected he'd asked only to distract her. "While you were playing around with swords at the Academy. I took the Unconventional Warfare classes, instead, remember?"

"Right. Remind me never to make you angry again."

He winced again as he shifted in the chair and Noin felt guilt surge through her. She'd hit him as hard as she could, twice, whilst his slap hadn't really hurt her at all. "Zechs?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…."

He cut her off. "Yes, you should have. I had no right to lash out at you like that. I'm supposed to be an Officer and a gentleman."

"You… had reason," she pointed out but he shook his head, scowling.

"There is no reason. Stop apologising."

"I…" she began and stopped as the memory of what she had seen in the corridor on Christmas Night flashed in front of her – the image of Treize holding Zechs gently as the younger man reacted to the elder's use of his true name.

Noin swallowed hard, remembering what she had learnt of the fall of the Sanc Kingdom in her reading over the past few weeks. The classes at the Academy hadn't even begun to do justice to the nightmare the Alliance had inflicted on that country. Until tonight, she hadn't thought she could be so cruel to another person. She had taken what he had lost and used it to mock him. Ashamed, she stared at the carpet. "Zechs, I'm sorry."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Noin, I told you to stop apologising. I rather deserved it."

She shook her head, taking a step closer to him, risking a quick glance in his direction. "Not for hitting you. For what I…. I shouldn't have said what I did…"

"Ah, that."

There was nothing in his tone to indicate how he felt and he didn't look at her as he spoke.

"I should go," Noin stammered, after the heavy silence had dragged on for almost a minute.

"Maybe," he agreed and lapsed back into quiet.

Slowly, Noin began to make her way to the door, her heart sinking at the thought that she might have let her temper destroy her friendship with her classmate forever.

As her hand touched the door handle, Zechs's voice stopped her.

"Noin, how much do you know about Sanc?" he asked.

She tensed and turned to face him. "Only what I've read in the last few weeks, what we were taught at the Academy and what I can remember from the news," she admitted. "I know what happened was… horrible."

"Horrible – yes. That's one way to put it." He gave a bitter laugh, and then swallowed. "I need to ask you a favour, Noin."

"Of course!"

"You mustn't tell anyone who I really am. As far as the world is concerned, I… died… twelve years ago, and it must stay that way."

"Zechs! I'm not going to tell anyone! I know how dangerous that would be for you…"

"I'm not worried about myself. But Treize…. His family protected me, against all Alliance orders. He's still protecting me." He hesitated. "At the least, it would cost him his command and his career. At the worst… well…," he trailed off.

"I understand, Zechs. I do. I won't say a word, I promise!"

"Not even a hint that Milliardo Peacecraft survived can be allowed to get out."

Noin frowned. Zechs didn't seem to be listening to her. "Zechs, I know. I won't say anything. I don't want to see Mr. Treize hurt…."

Again, Zechs didn't appear to register her words as he continued to talk, almost as though he were speaking to himself and not to her. "If anyone knows I survived, they might start wondering if my sister did, too… and I can't risk that."

Noin stilled. "Your sister?" she asked carefully, wondering if he was actually telling her what she thought he was.

Zechs nodded, confirming the direction her thoughts had taken. "Relena," he choked. "She was only a baby at the time – she doesn't know, doesn't remember who she really is. She doesn't know who I am."

Noin caught her breath. "Oh, Zechs!"

Now he did look up at her, and the look on the features she had stared at until was engraved in her memory made her throat tighten with sympathy. His eyes were shadowed, desperately burning with a need she'd never seen before, his face drenched in misery. "It doesn't matter," he murmured. "One day I'll tell her, when I can give her back her crown, but until then…. Please, Noin. You mustn't ever…."

Unable to stay where she was and listen to him plead with her for the life of his last remaining family member a moment longer, Noin ran to his side and knelt next to him, covering her hands with his. "I'm not going to talk about this. Please trust me?"

"I do. Noin, you really mustn't mention Relena to anyone – not even Treize. He doesn't know she's alive."

Her eyes widened. "Treize…you haven't told Treize?"

"I… can't. If I'm ever caught, he's certain to be implicated. I can't risk her."

"Then why tell me?" she gasped.

"Because… because you asked me to tell you the truth, and… someone else should know who she really is, just in case something happens to me."

"Zechs… I…." Noin was searching for words to try to tell him how much she was honoured by his faith in her and failing.

"Thank you, Noin," Zechs murmured and got to his feet. "I should have told you all this a long time ago – I'm sorry I didn't."

"No! I understand now why you didn't! I should never have gone digging when I found out who you were…." She stopped, mid-sentence, as she realised what she was saying.

"Noin?" Zechs's pale eyes were staring at her steadily, puzzled. "When you found out who I was? I thought you worked it out from the Family Trees?"

"I… confirmed it," she admitted, keeping her voice low and finding that she couldn't look him in the eye.

"You _confirmed_ it?" He pulled her to her feet and gripped her shoulders in his hands. "Then how did you learn who I am?"

"I… overheard Mr. Treize call you Milliardo Peacecraft. I…"

"When?!"

She stared at the floor, thinking frantically.

"Noin!" He bent down to look at her face and his eyes were as cold as ice-chips. "When did you hear Treize call me that!?"

"At Christmas," she admitted. "The two of you were talking…"

"Christmas? Christmas Night? At the ball?" His hands released her as understanding dawned. "It was you! You were watching us! I _knew_ I'd heard something!"

"I followed you from the Ballroom," she confessed. "You'd seemed so out of sorts all the time I'd been there and I was worried about you. I didn't mean to listen, but…"

"You did."

"Yes."

"Then, you know…?"

"That Mr. Treize isn't just your friend? I know," she acknowledged. "I know you didn't want anyone to know and I'm sorry I followed you, but you know I won't say anything. You can…"

Zechs backed up a pace, rolled his eyes at her and smiled suddenly, all the tension of the last few minutes running from his body. "I'm not worried about you knowing!" he laughed. "I'm worried about what Treize is going to say when I tell him you know. He's probably going to hit me twice as hard as you just did!"

"Zechs! Mr. Treize wouldn't dream of hurting you!"

Zechs raised an eyebrow at her with an enigmatic smirk. "Noin, believe me when I tell you that you have no idea what that man would, or wouldn't, do to me…"

Noin snickered at the innuendo in his voice, relieved beyond all measure that her classmate wasn't angry at her for discovering this latest of his secrets. It would have been entirely understandable if he had been – his relationship with Treize broke half a dozen regulations, and that was merely the tip of the iceberg. "So, spill," she ordered, plunking back down in her chair.

"Pardon?" Zechs asked, perplexed by the change of pace.

"Talk to me! You have to. I'm your best friend. It's a rule!"

"Noin…"

"What?" She curled her feet under her, tapping her fingers on the chair arm impatiently. "I told you, didn't I?"

Zechs nodded, recalling a few all-night conversations in their last few months at the Academy, where Noin – with much blushing and giggling – had confided in him all the things she was getting up to with her boyfriend of the time, and sat down. "Noin, are you sure about this?" he asked her, and there was a look in his eyes that made her flinch a little. Perhaps he wasn't so blind as she had thought he was.

Steeling herself, she smiled at him. "I'm your best friend," she repeated. "Treize doesn't count anymore, so… tell me _everything_!"

---

---

"Good morning, Major," Une greeted Zechs civilly as she approached the coffee machine the following morning, reaching past the tall Officer for a clean cup.

Zechs passed her one automatically, a lifetimes training prompting the move, and turned to look at her. "Good Morning, Lady. Did Mr. Treize leave on time?"

"Yes, perfectly so."

"Good."

Zechs moved to pick up another cup for himself and Une caught her breath as the lighting in the base cafeteria caught the edge of his jaw and revealed a nasty looking bruise. "What happened?" she demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your face – when did you get that bruise?"

Zechs shrugged. "Oh, that. I was sparring with Noin late last night."

The Lady's mouth twitched with a smile she ruthlessly repressed. "Really?" she asked. "I wouldn't have thought she could hit that hard."

Zechs looked down at her, his eyes cool. "You wouldn't?" Those eyes took on a sardonic glint. "Why, Lady, I would have thought you'd be the last person to assume that female also means fragile."

Une raised her eyebrows behind her glasses. "I don't assume that," she told him, "but I do know my limitations. I wouldn't have thought Noin would be able to take you down."

"Neither did I, until she knocked me across the room," Zechs admitted, a little ruefully and Une smiled. A second later she straightened up, collected her cup and nodded to him before walking away.

Zechs watched her go and let his façade of normalcy fall. His hand shook as he picked up his mug and he drew a deep breath before making his way to his office.

Une waited until she was out of his sight before she dropped her smile and shook her head. What was it about men that let them believe they could lie with impunity to women? The only man she'd ever known who came close to managing it was Mr. Treize, and he seemed almost psychic in his ability to read people at times.

Une had no doubt that it had been Noin who had hit Zechs and that she had managed to knock him across whatever room they had been in – the mark on his jaw told Une that much – but they hadn't been indulging in 'sparring practice' as he had claimed. Une had seen Noin leave the gym the night before and she had most definitely been alone.

Setting her mug down on her desk, Une picked up her phone and instructed her secretary to find the younger woman and summon her.

It was less than ten minutes before the Captain was knocking on her door.

"Noin, come in."

Une watched as the other woman came into the room and stopped in the centre, her spine rigid, her feet perfectly together, her violet eyes trained somewhere on the horizon.

"You can relax, Noin. I only wanted to talk to you."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Sit down."

Une waited until the Captain had settled herself, then folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "I've just seen Major Marquise. I wanted to congratulate you."

"Ma'am?"

"He's sporting a spectacular bruise, Noin. He told me you're responsible."

"Uh… yes, Ma'am."

The girl was nervous. That much was obvious from the way she was making a point of not meeting the older woman's eyes.

"What I would like to know, though, is how you came to be in a position to hit him like that?"

Une waited, wondering what the younger woman would offer as an explanation. If she, like her friend, chose to claim that it had been sparring practice, there would be nothing Une could do to prove otherwise.

Noin's eyes suddenly came back to meet Une's squarely. "With respect, Ma'am, I don't believe that it concerns you. It was a… private matter between Zechs and I that has no bearing on our positions as Officers."

Une fought her smile and levelled her voice. "You think so, do you? It has bearing when one of you chooses to lie to me about what really happened and the other takes it into her head to strike her senior Officer." She watched the younger woman jump at that. "Yes, Captain, I am referring to you. Whatever else Marquise may be to you, he is a Major and therefore your senior in rank. I assume you are aware of the consequences?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but I would like to point out that this happened whilst we were both off duty and out of uniform. It could be viewed as happening in our capacity as private citizens and not as Officers."

Une narrowed her eyes. "Noin, you have no capacity as a private citizen and you know it. No Officer is ever off duty."

Noin flushed. "The duelling code, then. It does allow for an abstention of rank differences until the matter is resolved."

"Noin, are you telling me you fought a duel with Zechs?"

Noin's shoulders stiffened and Une found herself admiring Noin's resolve – whatever had happened, she was determined not to say.

"Again, with respect, Ma'am, but I don't believe the code requires me to tell you what we fought about." She paused, and then allowed the stiffness to go from her body. "Please, Une, it's really nothing to do with the Specials. We just had a bit of a falling out – I said some things I shouldn't have, he slapped me, so I dropped him. I know he's my senior Officer, and I shouldn't have hit him, but…"

"But you weren't letting him get away with hitting you first," Une finished and Noin nodded.

"Something like that, yes."

Une rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. Why you didn't tell me that in the first place, I don't know. I'll let it drop, if you promise me I won't hear, see or otherwise encounter anything else that suggests a disagreement between the two of you."

"I promise."

"Good. You may go."

Noin got to her feet, snapped a salute and turned to walk out of the office. As she put her hand on the door, Une called her name.

"Noin? I'd make the time to drop in on Zechs sometime today. I don't know how hard you hit him, but he looked quite ill when I saw him."

Noin smiled. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you," she murmured, reflecting on the tentative friendship that had sprung up between the two of them since Christmas.

Really, Une wasn't so bad – when she wanted to be nice, she could…

---

---

Zechs dropped into his chair and turned his computer on, signing in to his email as soon as the machine had started up. He didn't want to tell Treize about Noin like this, but he knew he couldn't leave it until the man got back from Lvov. Treize had proved himself as good as his threat and had organised Zechs's coming birthday down to the last detail. The night he was due back in Luxembourg, Treize had left himself less than an hour and a half to recover from the flight, complete any work he had to do and change before they were scheduled to go out for the evening.

Zechs didn't exactly know whom else Treize had invited along because the older man had refused to tell him know any more than what time they were to meet, and what he should be wearing. Noin was going – she'd told him so the night before – but that was really all he knew.

Unfortunately, with so short a turn around time, Zechs wouldn't have time it would take to explain to Treize what had happened and then talk through his inevitable reaction. So, Zechs needed to tell him now.

Sighing, he began to compose the email.

**To: T. Khushrenada, Colonel**

**From: Z. Marquise, Major**

**Treize,**

**I hope your journey went well. Une tells me you left on time and with no problems. With luck, that will apply to the rest of your week as well.**

**You were right to be concerned about Noin.**

**She knows – she overheard our conversation at your Ball.**

**I told you I heard something.**

**Zechs**

He sent the message and turned his attention to other work as he waited.

An hour later, his computer chimed softly to tell him he had a new message and he turned to it with mixed feelings.

_To: Z. Marquise, Major_

_From: T. Khushrenada, Colonel_

_Dear Zechs,_

_I see._

_I assume that she caught up to you last night and confronted you? I do not envy you having to suffer that conversation – especially given the evening you had already had._

_All things considered, your news could be worse. I assume you trust her or she would not be your friend. I cannot imagine her, under any circumstances, participating in any action that would cause harm to you and so I would say that she is a safe enough confidante. It may well do you good to have someone other than myself you can talk to freely._

_She may even prove useful as a chaperone of sorts._

_Other than this, how have you been?_

_With affection,_

_Treize_

Zechs sighed in relief. Treize seemed to be taking the news better than he had hoped he would.

He hesitated and then decided he would save his reply for that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Treize registered the gentle bump as his plane's wheels touched down on the tarmac of the landing strip, even though he was drifting in and out of sleep. A minute later, the shadow of the flight attendant fell over him and his eyes opened.

"Excuse me, sir, but we have landed at Luxembourg base."

"Thank you, Ensign."

She smiled at him and made her way back to the front of the plane, leaving Treize to unfasten his seat restraint and stretch as he stood up, trying to ease muscles strained by spending too many hours in the same position.

The plane rolled to a halt and he made his way to the door, where the attendant snapped a salute, handed him his bag and pushed it open for him. Treize nodded his head to acknowledge the salute and then made his way down the steps.

"Sir! Welcome back!"

The general smiled at Lady Une's greeting. "Thank you, Lady. Have there been any problems in my absence?"

Une fell into step beside him as he made his way from the hangar into the corridors that would take him to his rooms. "Nothing of any real significance, sir. Captain Noin and Major Marquise had something of a disagreement, but I have their assurance that it was a private matter and that it has been resolved."

Treize raised an eyebrow, realising there must have been more to what had happened between the two pilots than Zechs had told him if it had come to Une's attention. "Oh? Did they happen to mention what it was about?"

Une shook her head. "No, sir. I noticed it because the Major had a bruise on his jaw. When I asked him what had happened he told me he had been sparring with Captain Noin."

"Had he?"

"Not according to Captain Noin. When I called her into my office, she told me they'd had an argument – she says she said something she shouldn't have, he slapped her, so she hit back."

Treize turned his head sharply, both eyebrows rising. "He did _what_?"

Une shrugged. "I chose to let the matter slide, given that she insisted it was a private matter." She hesitated. "Should I have put them both on report?"

Treize shook his head. "No, of course not. Thank you, Lady. You should go and get ready for tonight now. We haven't got much time."

"Yes, sir!" She turned on her heel and walked away.

Treize hesitated for a moment, and then continued to his rooms.

Once there, he dropped his bag onto the couch, went into the bathroom to run his bath, and then went to the panel by the door and input the code for Zechs's rooms.

"Major Marquise." The pilot's pleasant voice was clipped, professional.

"Good evening, Zechs. Are you busy?"

"Treize! When did you get back?"

The delight in the younger man's voice brought a smile to Treize's face. "About ten minutes ago."

"How did it go?"

"How do such things always go? I spent the first two days being escorted around the base by its Commander and the rest of the week discovering the problems he'd been hoping to cover up."

"Right."

"Yes. _Are_ you busy?"

"Not right now, no. Why?"

"Would you care to come and keep me company whilst I get ready for this evening? I'd like to spend some time with you alone if I can."

"Certainly. Can you give me few minutes to change? I've only just come off duty."

Treize smiled, though he knew the younger man couldn't see it. "Alright, Zechs. I'll leave my door unlocked – let yourself in."

"Yes, sir."

Zechs slid into Treize's rooms a few minutes later, pausing only to tap lightly on the door and was in time to hear the last few words of a conversation Treize was having with someone over the base radio system.

"Nothing important, I hope?" he asked, as he closed the door behind himself.

"Zechs," Treize greeted, his eyes sparkling. "Nothing important at all. How have you been?"

The pilot shrugged, the careless movement shifting the wool of the sweater he had chosen for the evening around his slender form. "Fine."

"Really?" Treize closed the distance between the two of them. "Are you sure? That's not the impression I received from Lady Une. What's happened?"

"Nothing but the things I mentioned in my emails. That conversation with Noin…"

Treize stopped a pace or two in front of the blond and raised an eyebrow. "Conversation? Is that what you're choosing to call it?"

"Is there another phrase you prefer?"

The general blinked at the coldness of his friend's tone – clearly, he'd pricked some sort of nerve. "'Conversation' does not generally involve attacking one's fellow officers, Zechs."

Zechs blinked – how had Treize found out about that! "I know that," he admitted.

The older man opened his mouth to press his point home and hesitated. There was something here that disturbed him, though he couldn't quite name what. Frowning, he ran his gaze over his companion, analysing.

"Treize?"

The senior officer smoothed his expression, hiding his concern behind a practiced mask, and smiled. "My apologies, Zechs. I must be more tired than I thought I was. For me it's getting up for midnight. Come and keep me company whilst I bathe."

"If you want me to?" Zechs asked warily, wondering why the older man had let things lie like that.

"Zechs… I always want you to."

The bathroom was warm, the air humid from the steam rising from the hot water pouring into the bathtub. Zechs removed his mask and leaned against the doorframe as Treize bent over the bath and switched the water off.

"Did you have time to read those books I gave you?" the general asked, as he stripped slowly out of his uniform and slid into the water.

Zechs shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Yes… sort of."

Treize tilted his head as he settled against the back of the tub. "Sort of?" he asked, trying not to smile at the flush staining the pilot's smooth skin. Rare were the times that Zechs either had the opportunity, or the lack of self-possession, to behave like the adolescent he was. There was something truly sweet about the way he was colouring now.

"I realise you've been busy this week, but…," Treize continued, and was cut off when his friend shook his head.

"I've read them. Literally read every page, I mean…"

"Did you understand them?"

The pilot was staring at the floor. "One of them," he allowed.

Frowning, Treize sat up and looked at the younger man. "One of them? Which one?"

"Given their nature, Treize, I'm sure you can work it out!" Zechs snapped. There was heat touching his voice and Treize wasn't entirely sure of its source. Was it real anger, which seemed unlikely, or merely embarassment?

"Can I?" Treize asked quietly. "So far as I know," he began soothingly, "you've never studied Psychology, and I know you've read other classic literature…"

"Don't tease me!" Zechs bit off. "When have I ever had difficulty with any science?!"

"Alright," Treize conceded. "I had some notion that you might find de Sade a challenge. You understood the Psychology textbook, though?"

Zechs shrugged, once again looking at the floor. "Inasmuch as I ever will, I think. I have a theoretical knowledge now, at least. It helps a little…" He glanced up briefly. "I'm not sure how much of it is applicable to you and I."

The general smiled, reaching up for his soap and working it between his hands. "Some – not all," he admitted. "Don't fret about this, Zechs. I only gave you those books because I thought they might be of some use to you. If they aren't, they aren't. Forget you ever read them."

Zechs nodded. "Have you read them?" he asked a moment later.

"Of course I have."

"What did you think of them?"

Treize shrugged gracefully. "I thought much the same as you of the textbook, but it's the best formal text I've ever found on the subject."

"And… the other?"

Treize shrugged and scowled as he stood up and climbed out of the bath. He wrapped himself in his towel, dried off, and then made his way into his dressing room, where he picked up his hairbrush and paused.

"Zechs?"

The pilot had followed him from the bathroom and was hovering inside the doorway. "Yes?"

"Why are you so uncomfortable with this topic?" Treize quizzed, curious as to the source of the younger man's embarassment.

The blond shrugged. "I'm… not."

Treize passed the brush through his hair, set it down and began to dress. "I won't force you to tell me if you don't wish to," he replied shortly, shaking his head with his displeasure clear on his face. "But do me the courtesy of admitting the obvious."

Zechs tensed, preparing to defend himself, and stopped when the older man held up a hand.

"My apologies – that was uncalled for." Quietly, Treize closed his wardrobe door, turned around and brought his hand up to run it through strands of pale-gold hair. Zechs maintained his wary stance for a few seconds, and then relaxed, allowing himself to yield to the touch when the general slid an arm around his waist and drew him in. Strong fingers shifted from his hair to stroke a line down his spine and he was caught, wanting to press back into that hand and, at the same time, not wanting to lose the feel of the other man's body against his.

Treize sighed softly. "I meant it. I won't make you tell me what's been troubling you so, but I do want you to."

The younger man shook his head, then rested it against his commander's shoulder. "I don't mean to be so… It's only… I've missed you. It hasn't…" He shook his head again. "It doesn't matter. Not now."

Treize tightened his embrace, his concern at the disturbances in his friend's behaviour marring his pleasure at their closeness. "Zechs… Milliardo… if…."

Zechs lifted his head and silenced his general by kissing him.

When he stepped back, Treize smiled. "Well, that's certainly better, but…"

"Treize. If I have to keep shutting you up by kissing you, we'll never make it out tonight, and I was under the impression you were quite looking forward to whatever it is you've masterminded?"

Red-shot hair shifted as the older man laughed, his navy eyes sparkling. "Oh, I am. I am! I've spent quite some time on this weekend – tonight, tomorrow and the day after…"

For what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, Zechs felt himself blush. The implication in Treize's voice was unmistakable.

"Though, truly," the general continued, "I believe the next forty-eight hours may be the hardest of my life."

Zechs choked, and then began to laugh. Treize held out a moment longer, but gave in eventually, until they were grasping at each other for support.

Scant seconds later, shrill alarms began blaring through the corridors of the base.

Treize remained where he was just long enough to see Zechs turn frighteningly pale, and then he was moving, striding through his rooms at a pace just a hair less than a run. As he reached his door, it opened and Lady Une, her expression urgent, came through it.

"Lady? Why are the alarms sounding?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "I don't know that yet, sir. Could you please gather your things and come with me?"

"Lady?"

"Now, sir," she insisted. "Procedure in the face of an unknown threat, sir. I have to get you off the base."

Treize heard Zechs come into the main room behind him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the diminutive figure of his assistant. "Procedure? I don't recall…"

Zechs had closed the gap and was standing just behind Treize, looking over his shoulder as Une tried to explain.

"Excuse me, sir, but that's likely because this particular protocol has never applied to you before -"

"What protocol? Your priority should be the defence of this facility – I'm certainly not going to leave just when I might be needed most!"

"Sir, as Commander-in-Chief you're considered too valuable to remain in a situation that could prove fatal. Your death would affect our entire operation, perhaps at a time when we cannot afford such a problem. My first order in a situation like this is to see to getting you clear of the danger zone if at all possible. So, if…."

"Lady!" Treize snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously as he listened to her. "I will do no such thing! Consider that order overridden, effective immediately!"

She shook her head, her posture stiffening until she was staring back at him stubbornly. The proverbial rock and a hard place, Zechs thought, watching them.

"I'm sorry, sir," Une said quietly, though her tone was anything but apologetic. "This is one order you can't override – the regulations specifically state 'with or without your co-operation.'"

Treize was shaking his head. "I will not."

To Zechs's surprise, Une shot him a pleading look, silently asking for his help. "Please, sir…."

Treize stiffened, but paused when Zechs put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, she's right. We don't know why the alarms are sounding – we don't know that this base will survive. If both you and Une are killed, what happens to our capability to strike back? Let the Lady take command here."

Treize turned his head to look at him, and then relented. "Alright," he conceded.

Une brightened, though her soft eyes still showed traces of worry. "Thank you, Your Excellency!"

Treize hesitated, then went into his bedroom, coming back with his sword fastened to his hip, his pistol in his hand and a folder under his arm. "Where to, Lady?"

"The hangar, sir. I've ordered your plane made ready – Major Marquise here can pilot."

The general nodded his acquiescence but Zechs spluttered, grabbing his helmet and slipping it over his face as they left Treize's suite and made for the hangar area. "Pilot? Me? Lady, I should stay here to help defend the base. I'm the best pilot you have!"

"Yes, you are – and that's why you're taking Mr. Treize. I have no idea what could be out there… there's little point in getting him off the base, if his plane gets shot down on the way."

"But…!"

"Zechs, she gave you an order," Treize broke in shortly. "Obey it. If I have to go, then so do you." He turned his head and smiled rakishly. "Besides, it's been years since I personally saw you at the controls – this could be fun!"

They entered the hangar, all but ignored by the technicians as they cycled up the Mobile Suits. Treize's plane was waiting by the entrance to the hangar, its sharp nose pointing out into the cold of the night.

"Go, Zechs, get her ready. I'll be on board in a moment."

The pilot nodded and ran for the steps into the plane, leaving Une and Treize standing alone.

"Excellently done, my Lady," Treize complimented. "Are you ready?"

Une offered him a rare smile. "Yes, sir. Just let me get hold of Noin…"

Treize inclined his head. "Hurry then – warming the plane won't keep him distracted for long."

"Yes, sir. I've already stored our bags in the hold – I'm sure I haven't forgotten anything."

He smiled back at her. "I never believed that you would." He waited for her to summon the Captain, issuing orders cancelling the alert as he did so and formally turning over control of the base to the Lieutenant-Colonel permanently stationed as the nominal base-commander.

When Noin had joined them, he offered Une his arm and escorted her to the plane – settling the two women into the well-appointed passenger cabin before slamming the hatch of the plane shut.

Its engines spun up slowly and it taxied out into the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

Zechs waited for the sound of the hatch closing to echo through the metal skin of the jet, before pulling off his helmet again and throwing the switch on his engines. He steered the craft out of the hangar and onto the smooth dark strip of the runway, flicking buttons to run through a cursory pre-flight check – though he could probably handle this plane with almost all of its instruments out and its electrics dead, even he would struggle to land a plane without working flaps or air-brakes.

As he settled the light jet at the end of the landing strip, his cockpit door opened and Treize came though it.

"Everything alright?" the general asked.

"Yes, sir. Would you sit down and fasten yourself in, please?"

His attention was on his instruments, but he looked up in surprise when Treize dropped into the co-pilot's chair and closed the seat restraints around his waist.

"Sir? Wouldn't you prefer to be in the cabin…?"

"Certainly not. You need a co-pilot."

Zechs doubted that. "Maybe sir," he answered, trying to be tactful. "But…you, sir?"

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Yes, me. I _am_ a pilot, Zechs. Even if I'm not quite in your class."

Zechs glanced down. "Yes, sir."

Treize chuckled. "Oh, come on! How often do you think I get the chance to actually fly anymore?"

The blond bit his lip. "That was… the point I was trying to make, sir. Just how long has it been?"

"I'm not going to crash!"

For the second time in twenty minutes, Zechs did something to surprise the older man – he laughed. "That's good, sir. Because I might – I've never flown this model of plane before."

The general stared at him in disbelief for a moment, and then sat back, folding his arms. "I trust you," he murmured.

Zechs smiled, somehow knowing Treize meant more than his piloting skills. "Thank you, sir. Hold on."

Strong fingers played over the buttons on the panel in front of them, and then closed over the throttle. Zechs felt the plane gather itself, building power shuddering under his hands as the pitch of the engines rose steadily.

"Zechs…" Treize murmured. "This isn't an Aries…"

"I know that… breathe out, sir."

Treize found himself obeying without thinking, and then he was flung backwards and pinned to the padding of his chair as the pilot took his foot off the brake and threw the throttle open. The light jet leapt forward, tearing along the length of the runway.

Zechs fixed his eyes on his airspeed indicator, holding the nose down until it was where he wanted it. Then he let go and the craft streaked into the sky, climbing rapidly.

Treize swallowed hard to keep from crying out in shock. He knew now why the younger man had told him to breathe out – if he hadn't the pressure of their explosive acceleration and the G-forces created by the steep climb would have winded him.

Zechs flung the plane into a sharp turn, banking hard as he turned back on himself, levelling their flight path. He reached out with one hand to raise his landing gear, looking up in shock when his hand brushed against Treize's as the older man flicked the switch for him.

"I _am_ a pilot, Zechs," the general repeated. "Even though I'm _definitely_ not in your class. What was that about?"

Zechs smiled. "Merely taking precautions, sir. We had no way to know whether the airspace was friendly – a plane is never more vulnerable than at take-off and landing." The smile became a smirk. "And, you did say you hadn't seen me fly for a time…"

"Are you showing off for me, Zechs?"

"Do you want me to?"

Treize raised an eyebrow; Zechs's words might be innocent, but his tone definitely wasn't – there had been a world of implication in his question. Slowly, the older man smiled, relaxing into the soft support of his chair and allowing the flare of heat to wash though him and create a delightful tension in his body. "I might," he replied.

Zechs turned his head and began to smile in return, but before the expression could fully form, he tensed and looked back to his controls. "I can't, sir. I don't want to draw attention to the plane." He paused. "Do we have a destination, sir?"

Treize shook his head. "North. Zechs… there's no one out here for you to draw attention from."

"We don't know that, sir. Something triggered that emergency."

"Yes – Lady Une."

Clear, pale eyes locked with his own as Zechs's head snapped round. "I beg your pardon?"

"Lady Une tripped the alarms – at my orders. There's no emergency."

There was a shadow in the blonde's eyes. "I'm sure you had a reason."

"Of course I did." Treize freed his seatbelt, reaching down the side of the chair for the folder he had brought on board and stored there before take off. He offered it to the younger man. "Happy birthday," he murmured.

"What?"

"Happy birthday," the general repeated. "I called a drill of the emergency procedures. Only Une and Noin knew what was going to happen."

"Why?"

Treize smiled gently. "I needed a way to get you off-base and into a plane." He frowned at the expression on his friend's face. "You didn't really think you could leave me to plan your birthday and expect me to come up with nothing more than a trip to the local drinking establishments, did you?"

"Clearly not."

The general prodded the folder further in his direction. "Don't you want to know where we're going?"

"Could you just tell me the course setting, sir? I'm a little busy flying the plane at the moment."

Treize nodded sagely. "Ah, of course." He got to his feet and opened the hatch to the cabin. "Noin, could you come up here, please?"

Zechs's head whipped round. "Noin?"

"Hello, Zechs!" The artificial lights brought out the vivid highlights to her purple hair as she all-but bounced into the room; like the two men she was out of uniform – and Zechs realised that Une had been as well.

"Did we fool you?" Noin continued, leaning on the back of his chair. "From the way we took off, I'd say we did. Une looked positively green!"

Treize smiled at her, cutting in before it became obvious that Zechs wasn't going to reply. "Could you take the plane for a time, please, Noin?"

"Of course, sir." She tapped Zechs on the shoulder, "Move, then!"

Stiffly, Zechs slid out of the pilot's chair and let the young woman take his place.

"In there," Treize told him, pointing at the hatch. The blond obeyed, disappearing into the cabin as the general paused in the doorway. "I'll send Une up to act as co-pilot."

"Thank you, sir. And… good luck. He didn't look happy."

Treize sighed. "No, he didn't – and, with 20:20 hindsight, it becomes clear that I should have known he wouldn't. Never mind – I'm sure I can talk him round."

Violet eyes sparkled. "I'm sure you can, sir."

* * *

"Zechs – do you plan to stare out of the window for the entire length of this flight, or are you going to talk to me and look at your present?"

Slowly, the younger man turned from studying his own reflection in the window and sat down in the chair next to his commanding officer. Treize handed him the folder, watching as he opened it and looked through the contents, the stiffness and the anger beginning to ebb away as he read the various bits of information.

Eventually, the pilot looked up. "Why?"

Treize shrugged. "Why not? I thought you might like it."

"I do, but…"

"But what? We have the time off due – all four of us. I can certainly afford it – what's your objection?"

"Won't you get in trouble for calling that drill just to get me on a plane?"

"Of course not – I'm entirely within my rights to throw my troops surprise drills whenever I feel like it. Kai-Huang can handle running the base for a few days, and I'm hardly out of contact should I really be needed." He leaned forward, smiling. "I wanted to, Milliardo. I wanted to please you and… I thought this might be a more fitting location for… other things than on-base. We won't be disturbed here."

Zechs felt himself smile and colour at the same time. "Maybe." The smile faded. "I just wish you'd found a different way to get me on the plane – I think you've shocked five years off my life."

Treize frowned. "I noticed, and I wouldn't have said 'shocked'. What was that about – you've certainly heard the emergency alarms before?"

The younger man dropped his gaze. "Just… memories."

"I owe you an apology, then. I hadn't intended to…"

"I know that, Treize, and it isn't really your fault. Merely not the best of timing."

Treize offered him a rueful smile, apologising again with his eyes. "Forgive me for saying this," he said after a minute or two had passed in silence, "but you don't normally seem so shaken."

"Say, rather, I normally manage a better job of pretending not to be," Zechs replied, then gestured with his hands. "In truth, if you must hold anyone responsible, make it Noin – though she couldn't have known what effect she would achieve. That was a conversation I could gladly have lived my whole life without having, and… I haven't been sleeping well since."

Treize nodded once. "Ah – I see. You might have contacted me."

"You were busy. You have enough demands upon your time without attending to my every childish foible!"

"I wouldn't call grief for your past a childish foible – it's perfectly understandable that it would be difficult for you. I think I'd be more concerned if you appeared utterly untouched by it." He halted his flow of words for a moment, so he could get to his feet and move in order to rest his hands on his friend's shoulders and grip. "Don't ever apologise for your past to me, Milliardo – it is a part of who you are." He pulled the blond up to his feet, so they were standing together, almost touching along the length of their bodies. "I don't love you in spite of it, my friend. I merely love you."

Zechs closed his eyes. "Treize," he breathed.

Treize smiled. "Shh," he murmured and pressed his lips softly to the other's.

They stayed that way for the space of a few heartbeats, and then the younger man swayed, caught the elder in his arms and pulled them together, opening his mouth and deepening their kiss, inhaling the clean scent of his skin and the unique, signatory fragrance of Treize's rose and opium cologne, marvelling as he did so at how well it suited the dignity and the depth of the man who wore it. The most exquisite of flowers, but possessed of wounding thorns when incorrectly handled, and the most decadent of narcotics, so lethally poisonous to his friend should he be fool enough ever to sample it.

Agile fingers slid from Zechs's shoulders to caress the line of his body, causing the pilot to catch a moan in the base of his throat as those hands traced the fit of his velvety wool jumper against his waist.

What had begun as careful and comforting altered into fiery passion from one breath to the next. Treize's hands slipped under the sweater, closing on bare skin, stroking even as they were used to steer the blond a few steps across the cabin until his back was pressed to the metal grill dividing this section of the plane from the next. Zechs tilted his head, sending his hair falling in a sheet around him, as Treize moved his mouth to his throat.

"Treize, this isn't…" he gasped.

For an answer the elder man slid one knee between the pilot's and pushed forward, rocking his weight until the younger man moaned again, too far gone this time to stifle the sound. Treize gave thanks that the partition between the cabin and the cockpit was heavily reinforced as he voiced his own soft cry of pleasure. The pressure of Zechs's strong stomach muscles against his own hardened need was maddening.

"Oh, God… stop it, Treize! Stop it!"

"Why?"

"Because… if you don't…"

"What makes you think that isn't exactly my intention?"

"I…" Zechs began, and stopped as his voice broke on a ragged breath.

"Oh, my God!"

Treize started, his head snapping round as he looked over his shoulder to see Noin standing, one hand over her mouth, just inside the cabin.

"Sir! I'm so sorry…!" Her normally pale complexion was scarlet hued, her eyes wide as they fixed on her commanding officer and her classmate.

Zechs moaned softly and hid his face against his friend's shoulder, doubtless much the same shade as Noin. Treize folded his arms around the younger man's slender waist and held him, stroking his hair gently as an antidote to the tremors the general could feel running through his body, caused by stymied arousal and overwhelming embarrassment.

"Lucrezia, sit down," Treize instructed.

"Really, sir – I had no idea. I'm so, so sorry!"

"Thank you, but there's no need for you to be. Sit down."

The general watched as the young woman moved to obey his command, reading far more than embarrassment from her as she did so. Smiling to himself, he nudged Zechs with his shoulder. "You, too."

Reluctantly, Zechs let him go and made his way to the chair he had been sitting in before Treize had made him stand up, without once meeting Noin's eyes.

The older man sat in his own chair and looked at the pair of them, still smiling. "I don't know why either of you are behaving this way. Noin, I know you weren't intending to catch us in such a position, but you were aware of the nature of our relationship. What did you think that meant? Zechs, would you care to tell me why you suddenly seem embarrassed by the fact that I'm your lover?"

Two pairs of pale-hued eyes were staring at him in disbelief, but it was Noin who spoke first. "Sir, my apologies if I say anything to offend, but that logic doesn't follow. Yes, I was aware that you and Zechs were lovers, and yes, of course I knew what that must mean, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to walk in on two of my senior officer's in what can only be described as a compromising position."

Treize didn't react for a moment, and Noin thought she'd gone too far. Then the man relaxed into his chair and began to laugh.

"Aptly reasoned, Lucrezia, but truly, this was my fault. I knew the location wasn't ideal – perhaps I should be grateful that it was you who caught us and not Lady Une?"

"Perhaps, sir. I wouldn't envy you that explanation."

"No, I imagine you wouldn't!" He paused. "What did you come in here to say anyway?"

"Oh! Lady Une sent me to tell you that we need to start our descent, and to ask if one of you can take over as co-pilot. She's never flown this type of plane before and she doesn't want to chance trying to land it."

Zechs chuckled, his earlier mortification apparently forgotten. "Tell her not to worry – I've never flown this type of plane before either and I got us off the ground alright."

"I think the Lady might debate that, but you have a point, Zechs," Treize agreed.

Noin shook her head. "Actually sir, I think she's right to switch out. The control tower has been warning us for the last half hour about the weather conditions over the air-field – I think if we were any other craft they'd have refused us clearance – and I have flown this type of plane before. They're powerful and manoeuvrable in the air, but they have all the aerodynamic characteristics of a flying brick on landing. Getting her down in what amounts to a small blizzard isn't going to be easy."

Treize frowned. "Define 'not easy'. If it isn't safe to attempt to land…"

Noin shrugged. "I didn't say it wasn't safe, sir, only that it's going to be a challenge to get her on the ground smoothly. I can do it, but I'm going to need co-pilot help, and Lady Une isn't the best option."

That much, Treize reflected, was certainly true. Though Une was an asset of no small measure to his command, her worth was as an administrator, not as a front-line soldier. She truly shone in a boardroom, not on a battlefield. Trained by the Special's Academy though she might have been, she was, by quite some margin, the weakest pilot on board, and Treize found it only to her credit that she was willing to admit that fact. He smiled, and looked at the younger man. "You go, Zechs. You're the stronger pilot, anyway, and you and Noin have flown together before. I'll stay here and keep the Lady company."

Zechs nodded and got to his feet, heading for the cockpit. Noin waited a moment, and then smiled at Treize.

"Thank you, sir. You might want to strap in – I'll try to make it a smooth landing, but you know Zechs…"

"I do indeed, Lucrezia."

She grinned and hurried away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight **

A moment later Une appeared through the door, looking as close to relieved as Treize had ever seen her get. She folded her slim frame into the chair Zechs had vacated and fastened the belt.

The general looked at her closely, seeing signs of strain in the wisps of hair that had come loose from the ponytail she had taken to wearing around him, off duty at least, instead of her twin buns. It was a change he appreciated – her thick, waist length hair was almost as striking in its way as Zechs's platinum locks; a mane of rich coffee-coloured silk that he was sure would feel warm and soft to the touch. She smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back as affection made her deep chocolate eyes sparkle.

"I haven't thanked you for helping to organise all this, Lady," he began. "I couldn't have done it without you."

She glanced away, sudden colour staining the line of her cheekbones. "I'm sure that you could have, sir, and there's no need to thank me…"

"Of course there is – this is hardly in your job description."

She didn't reply other than to smile at him again, and they looked at each other in silence for a few seconds.

The plane jolted twice, hard side-to-side motions that shook his bones despite the padding of his chair. Treize turned his head to direct his attention to the open cock-pit door, listening as Zechs's voice was carried back to him – though he couldn't make out the exact words, the tone left him in no doubt of their nature. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Une's fingers clench around the arms of her seat, the knuckles whitening with the pressure.

"Lady?" he asked, twisting so that he was facing her.

"I'm alright, sir."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded, closing her eyes as the jet shuddered again. "Yes, sir. I just don't much like flying."

Treize blinked. "You don't like _flying_? Is this a recent thing?"

"No, sir. I've never liked it."

"Then what on Earth made you decide to join the Specials?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm fine as long as I'm the pilot, sir," Une replied with a tight little smile. "I just don't entirely trust anyone else."

"Well, I'm sure you can trust these pilots," Treize soothed.

"Yes, sir, I…" her voice broke off into a sharp cry of distress as the plane seemed to drop ten feet straight down. It was a violent enough jolt that Treize could feel his own stomach protesting against such treatment, and without thinking he reached out, prised one of Une's hands off her chair and wrapped her fingers within his own.

"Lady… I won't let anything happen to you."

Her eyes opened and she stared at her hand in his, before looking up at his face. "I know that, sir," she breathed.

Treize met her gaze for a moment, and then turned back to the cockpit. It was strange, but she seemed to be an all-together different woman out of uniform – delicate and more approachable. The soft, rose pink wool of her jumper felt pleasant against his skin where the edge of one sleeve was brushing his hand, and against her slender neck the light was catching on a fine chain. It took him a moment to realise that she was wearing the necklace he had given her for Christmas, and that her jumper was most likely chosen because it matched it, not because it was soft, or because it flattered her slim figure.

For a brief instant, thoughts of 'what if?' flashed through his mind, and he knew that Zechs had been right that night in the Luxembourg park – the Lady would be well suited to being his wife, and the notion of spending his life with her wasn't unpleasant. It suddenly came to him that, had the past few months gone differently – had Zechs proven uninterested in a male lover, or had Treize not allowed himself to be talked out of his objections to their relationship – the odds were that the next piece of jewellery he gave her would have been his engagement ring. He glanced down at the hand he was holding, realised it was her left, and could almost see the sparkle of a gem-set ring against her small fingers.

The plane hit the landing strip with a hard bump, breaking his concentration and his musings over which gem he would have chosen for her, and she sighed in relief.

"Danken Sie, Gott!"

Treize chuckled. "You as well, hmm? Ich hatte du sprechen Deutsch vergessen," he teased.

She looked at him in surprise. "You'd _forgotten_ I speak German?" she asked, translating his words. "I didn't think I'd ever mentioned to you that I do?"

He hesitated – she hadn't: It had been Zechs that had remarked that she hailed from Germany originally. "Your file says you're from Hanover – it was a logical assumption," he replied, shrugging.

The plane pulled to a halt. A few minutes later Zechs and Noin appeared from the cockpit, both of them looking rumpled and not a little tired – getting the plane on the ground in one piece must have been more of a challenge than Noin had thought it would be.

Treize let go of Une's hand and got to his feet, using the movements to cover his discomfort at his near slip, and ignoring the look Zechs was giving him.

* * *

Zechs followed Noin into the cockpit of the plane, wincing when he looked out of the window and saw the weather. His classmate was leaning over the co-pilot's chair, talking to Une to find out what, if anything, had changed whilst she'd been in the cabin. She nodded, and slid into the pilot's chair, taking back control of the plane. Zechs took that as his cue to tap Une on the shoulder, letting her know that she could let go of the stick she was rigidly gripping.

She actually smiled at him as she got out of his way and allowed him to take over the co-pilot's position, then she turned and went back into the main cabin.

"How far are we from the airfield?" Zechs asked as he took his own controls in his hands and immediately felt the way the plane was fighting them in the rough weather.

Noin grimaced. "Not far enough, but we'll manage. Lady Une isn't going to appreciate it though – I really thought she was going to be sick when you took off. She went completely white."

Zechs fought his smile. "I'm sorry for that. I was under the impression that the plane might be in danger, and Treize hadn't told me there was anyone else on board."

She turned an impish grin on him. "Don't apologise – I liked it!"

He grinned back at her. "I'm glad someone did! Treize seemed rather shocked, too."

"I'll bet he didn't look half as shocked as you did a minute ago!"

Zechs ducked his head, feeling his face heat again. "Yes, well…"

"Yes, well – indeed! Just what were the two of you planning to do in there anyway?"

"Noin!"

"What?" Though she was looking firmly at her instruments, her eyes were sparkling. "I'm not asking you for graphic detail!"

"Right," Zechs drawled. "Of course you aren't."

Noin shot him a glance, giggling. "So maybe I am. I wouldn't have thought he was the type…"

"For what?!"

"To have such a wanton streak." She paused, thinking. "Or, maybe I would, but not quite like that. Quickies against the wall in places where you're likely to get caught don't seem his thing."

Zechs coughed. "Noin, we weren't going to…"

"Well, maybe you weren't. Mr. Treize had other ideas – I've seen that look on a man's face before!"

"Yes, I'm sure you have," he agreed, and dodged as she aimed a slap at his head.

"You can't say anything to me! I'm not the one who was just caught with his pants very-nearly-literally around his ankles!"

Zechs raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to very nearly being caught in the hangar at the Academy by your Instructor?" he asked, reminding her of one of the stories she'd told him of her own exploits as a cadet.

It was Noin's turn to blush, but before Zechs could laugh at her, the plane shuddered and he was forced to concentrate on his controls. There was a second jolt, and he swore creatively, throwing his strength behind Noin's as they tried to fight the turbulence in the air stream. The plane steadied, leaving them both breathing hard.

"We have to lose altitude or we're never going to get her down on that airfield," Noin ordered.

"Got that."

"And we have to get below this storm front!"

"I don't think we're going to manage that. If the control tower is warning us, it probably runs all the way down."

"Great. Une isn't going to like this, is she?"

"Probably not – I hope Treize hasn't made any early dinner reservations."

Noin laughed. "It's odd thinking of him like that, you know," she added a moment later, tilting the nose of the plane very slightly down.

"Hmm?"

"Well, maybe not for you, but… it's hard to remember that he's not very much older than me and just as human. He seems so… perfect, all the time. Even on Christmas morning, he had this air… Seeing him with you like that was a bit of a shock! Especially since he seems the type to go for slow seduction over dinner, a big bed and lots of fluffy pillows!"

Zechs smiled at her ruefully. "It's been known," he admitted. "I really have no idea whether 'quickies against the wall' are something he'd do, or not. It wouldn't surprise me. I told you about that meeting he dragged me to."

She laughed again. "Now that seems perfectly in character. I can see him doing something like that so that he can sit through the meeting knowing you're squirming." She giggled and seemed to be about to add something, but the controls suddenly bucked under their hands, and then the plane plummeted straight down as the air pressure beneath the wings bottomed out for a moment, killing all their lift.

From the cabin, they heard a frightened moan from Une and Treize's smooth voice reassuring her. Zechs smiled tightly, trying not to feel a pang of jealousy, and then smirking as he imagined her utter mortification if she did throw up on her commanding officer. What was the woman doing in the Specials anyway, if she was this poor a flier? Treize had long since insisted that his cadets be screened for such phobias.

Zechs smiled as he gave his attention completely to his piloting – though he hadn't flown with his classmate in years, they had always made a good team and he found himself slipping back into those habits, instinctively working with her as they brought the jet into the field and down on the snow-sprinkled runway.

They pulled to a halt and Noin tipped her head back with a sigh of relief.

"You were right," Zechs commented wearily. "All the aerodynamics of a brick. Somebody needs to order a redesign – that could prove fatal under the wrong circumstances."

"I know, but you try convincing anyone to listen to you."

"I just might at that. You and I are the best pilots in the armed forces and we struggled. Two average pilots would never have managed and the Specials two most senior officers would now be burning to death in the wreckage."

Noin snorted. "Well, I can't say I'm not glad that Une chose to get out of the way. I wouldn't have wanted to try that without you as a co-pilot."

Zechs nodded as he stood up. "Treize would have been alright, I think."

"Maybe, but I've never flown with him directly."

"Neither have I, but he's a good pilot – better than he thinks he is, actually."

Noin frowned – that seemed an odd sort of thing for Zechs to say. "Oh?" she asked, curious.

Zechs shrugged. "He seems determined that I'm much better than he is."

"You are."

"Maybe."

"No maybe. I've fought with both of you, remember. He's very good, I'll give you that, maybe even in the top ten for the Specials, but he's not you – not even me."

"I'm not convinced, Noin. I'd like to put him in an Aries and see what he can do. He's never flown anything newer than a Leo, and they don't really suit his style of fighting."

"He managed well enough on L3."

"Even so… You've heard of the new Taurus suit?"

"Of course I have," Noin agreed, as she flicked the last few switches. "Every pilot in the Specials has heard the rumours."

"Yes. Treize was involved in its design process – quite heavily involved. Its part of something he started years ago; he's determined that his pilots will have mobile suits that match their abilities, and he's convinced that neither the Leo nor the Aries does that."

"So this new Taurus suit…?"

"Is nothing like either. It's faster, more powerful, more responsive – I'm not convinced it's not too much, but he says that it won't be, that the pilots will simply improve to match the machine as they have with every other new suit design."

"There's some truth to that. The first few times I flew an Aries I couldn't keep up, now it feels almost too slow."

"I know." He paused. "I don't think the Taurus is what he's working towards though. He's got hundreds and hundreds of hours of flight records stored away, half finished schematics, concepts for things that he won't let me see. He mentioned once, years ago when he'd just left the Academy, that one of his dreams was to design the perfect mecha – something that would work with the pilot in flawless harmony, and push them to their absolute limit, and I think he means to actually do it."

Noin shrugged. "Why shouldn't he? I would have thought you'd like the idea." She watched as he frowned. "It is you he's intending as the pilot, you know. Who else?"

"He's never suggested…"

"Should he have to? Zechs, whatever else he may be, he's an excellent judge of his soldiers potential. I'll bet he knew how good a pilot you were going to be long before you ever joined the Specials."

The frown deepened. "Noin, some of his ideas… I don't know if they're genius or madness. They owe nothing to current suit design. His figures for the pilot interface are… frightening. I'm not convinced the average person could fly it and come out in one piece."

Noin stood up, running her hands through her hair to neaten it. "Maybe the average person couldn't, but you aren't average. When is he planning to build this suit, then?"

"I don't know. He says he's waiting for something. The thing of it is, Noin that nothing about any of his ideas owes anything to the Leo design – almost completely the opposite, in fact. If he's designing what he thinks a mobile suit should be, then he must hate everything about the suits he's flown. If he's as good as you say in a suit he loathes, what could he do in a suit he liked?"

Noin shrugged, but the question had caught her imagination. "You have a point, but I doubt it will ever matter. Generals don't fight on the front lines.

"True, I suppose. I'd still like to see it – I don't like hearing him insisting he isn't a good pilot."

"Well, you could always ask him to fly something else," she pointed out. "He might do it just to make you happy."

Zechs smiled, but he shook his head. "I wouldn't ask." He paused, and then gestured at the door. "Come on – I'm sure Treize and Lady Une are wondering what's happened to us."

She made her way through the door, Zechs on her heels. He was close enough to her that she could feel him stiffen as they came into the cabin. Glancing behind her for a second, she saw that he was glaring at Treize, and she turned back in time to see that the general was holding Lady Une's hand in his own. A second later, he was on his feet and moving, without ever returning the younger man's gaze.


	9. Chapter 9

The airfield had been cold, but the inside of the car Treize had hired was deliciously warm and Zechs found himself settling into the soft leather seat, relaxing despite himself.

The surge of irritation he had experienced when he had seen Treize comforting Lady Une had only been compounded when the elder man refused to acknowledge him. The general had instead busied himself with collecting their bags from the storage bay of the plane – laughing at Zechs when he asked how his bag had gotten there. He'd pointed at Noin, admitting that he had called the pilot to his rooms whilst he had his bath to get him out of her way, and that it had been her to whom Treize had been speaking when Zechs arrived.

That hadn't improved Zechs's mood any either, and by the time Treize had arranged storage for their plane and shown them to the cars he had arranged to get them the rest of the way to their destination, Zechs was fuming.

Depending upon how one looked at such things, it was either very wise of Treize to ignore him completely, or rather insensitive. Regardless, that was what the general had done, handing Une the keys to the second car and sliding behind the wheel of this one himself.

That had been almost half an hour ago, and the ride along twisting, snow-edged roads had passed in silence as Zechs stared out of the window while Treize concentrated on whipping the little sports car through the night at a fair pace, but not so fast that he lost the other half of their party. In that time, the smoothness of the ride, its warmth and comfort, had done a lot to soothe ruffled feathers, and Zechs was finding that he couldn't hang onto his anger – couldn't really explain why it had seemed so important in the first place.

"Why two cars?" he asked, breaking the silence without warning.

Treize shot him a glance, not really able to look at him without taking his eyes off the road and putting them in danger. "Convenience, mostly. There are any number of things to do or places to see in this region. I thought it would be easier if we could split up to some degree." He smiled. "It also means that we aren't tied to Lady Une and Lucrezia for the entirety of our stay…"

"Ah. Scheming, as always, then."

"As always," Treize acknowledged. "Don't you like this particular bit of scheming?"

Zechs was forced to return the smile. "I like most of your scheming."

There was another quick glance in his direction.

"Do you?" The general asked. "That's good. I don't know quite how I'd manage without it."

"Hmm," Zechs agreed, closing his eyes and allowing his head to fall back against the seat. "It's a lovely car."

"Isn't it? I've always wanted to own one but there's no point. I'm not in one place for more than a few weeks at a time. The curse of a military career."

"That's true, but I can't imagine you doing anything else."

"No, neither can I. I doubt I'd have gotten very far. I would have made a terrible student, I think."

Zechs laughed, trying to picture his elegant, commanding general as a typical scruffy, harassed student and failing miserably. Even as a child, Treize had been fastidious and disciplined.

"What are you laughing at?" Treize asked, a hint of a smile playing around his own mouth.

"Trying to imagine you as an undergraduate and failing."

Treize allowed the smile to form fully. "Of course you are. I'm twenty-three, Zechs. I'd be well into my Doctorate by now. You're undergraduate age."

"I suppose I am," Zechs agreed, a little sadly.

Treize seemed to sense his shift in mood and gave him a moment of silence in which to regain his balance. "What would you have chosen to study?" he asked eventually.

The blond shrugged against his seat belt. "I don't know. I know my parents were intending for me to study politics and law at one of the European universities, but I would have talked them out of it, I think. Philosophy, maybe, or Mythology. What about you?"

The older man shot him another look, as if those weren't the answers he'd been expecting, and then shrugged, tapping the tapered fingers of one hand – for once without their gloves – against his knee. "I honestly haven't given it much thought – mathematics, physics, engineering, probably. Literature or history, if I wanted to get away from hard sciences. Music, as an outside possibility. In truth, though, I don't know if I would have continued my formal education that far – I can study all of those things in my own time."

Zechs closed his eyes again. "I don't know. I can see you ambling round the Sorbonne or Padua with ink-stained fingers and your hair everywhere, terrorising first years. You were a good Instructor. You'd make an interesting lecturer," he added, yawning.

"A possible career when I retire from the military, then?" Treize asked, turning the car off the main road.

"You'll never retire – you'll end up running the planet before then…"

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult," the general mused, voice dry. When there was no reply, he glanced across the car to see that the younger man was apparently dozing in his seat. Treize shook his head – he'd been trying to break Zechs of his habit of falling asleep in cars for years.

****************

The roaring fire cracked and snapped as it licked over the wood it had been given to feed it, pouring light and heat into the low ceilinged room, and adding a quiet, homely sound to the background noise of movement, low music and the hum of conversation.

Almost three hours after their arrival at their destination, an exclusive resort in the mountains of Sweden, Zechs was sitting on an overstuffed couch in front of the fire, chatting to Une and Noin across a low table, waiting for Treize to return from the bar with their next round of drinks.

There'd been enough of them – between the Cognac Treize had ordered be ready for them in their rooms, the wine they had drunk with dinner and the various liquors previous trips to the bar had produced – that Zechs was feeling decidedly less than steady.

He wasn't the only one beginning to look a little worse for wear. Une, who had started the evening with her hair perfectly swept back and her face make-up pale, now had wisps of hair floating around her in a bizarre halo and her cheeks had taken on a rosy flush. In the dim, red-gold light of the fire, she struck quite a pretty picture, although not so pretty as the woman next to her. Noin was laughing at something she had overheard from the party seated in the next cluster of sofas and the indigo velvet of her dress brought out the tones of her hair and the rare shade of her eyes.

Her dress was only a shade or two less a flawless midnight blue than the sleeve which appeared over his shoulder without warning and pressed a short, chilled glass into his hands.

"Schnapps," Treize told him before he could ask what the tumbler contained. The general handed two more glasses to the women and folded onto the couch at the younger man's side, leaning into him very subtly. "It's very sweet and rather potent," he added before taking a sip from his own glass.

Zechs nodded and tried his own, finding that it was, as he had been warned, almost sickeningly sugary and rather harsh, but for all that, rather pleasant to drink.

"Do you like it?" Treize asked.

"I think so."

"Oh, good. We may finally have found something you can drink in some quantity."

Zechs rolled his eyes. The general was the only one of the four of them who had yet to show signs of suffering from the volume of alcohol they had consumed, doubtless because his daily diet consisted primarily of Cognac. Treize had taken it upon himself to systematically go through every form of potent alcohol the bar stocked until he found one that the pilot actually liked, all as part of his promise to get the younger man completely inebriated for his birthday. Zechs wondered if Treize knew how close his experimentation was coming to achieving his goal.

"Well, I like it, even if Zechs doesn't," Noin piped up, setting her half empty glass down on the table in front of her. "I'm going to have to remember it the next time I'm looking for something to drink other than wine."

Treize smiled at her, then transferred his attention to Une, who was staring into the glass as though it were going to bite her. "It can't hurt you, Lady."

"I'm sure it can – I'm not sure I should be drinking any more than I have."

"Nonsense. What harm can it do?"

"I think you might want to ask my head that in the morning, sir. I'm going to have such a hangover."

"And if you do? We have nothing planned for tomorrow. We can spend the entire day in bed if it comes to it."

Noin snorted into the glass she had just picked up again, shooting Zechs a mischievous look from under her hair. He returned her look evenly, smirking.

"I can't imagine such an indulgence would be as much fun as it should if we're all suffering the after-effects of tonight," he replied. Noin choked.

Treize smiled. "I am certain that it will lovely anyway. I so rarely get to stay abed past dawn."

Noin shook her head. "I like getting up early, I always have. It seems like half the day is gone if I don't."

"Then you can be our alarm clock in the morning, Lucrezia. I shall trust you to see that we all eat breakfast – even if everyone else is calling that meal 'lunch.'"

She coloured a little. "Actually, sir, about that…"

"Yes?"

"I noticed that there's a kitchen in the lodge – would you mind if I did some cooking whilst we're here? I could make breakfast tomorrow…"

Une looked at her in surprise. "You can cook?"

"My mother taught me when I was little – I've always enjoyed it but I don't get much chance."

Treize smiled at her gently. "You may do whatever you wish, Lucrezia. If it will please you to cook, I'm sure none of us will object. I know I can't cook to save my life."

"Oh, sir, I'm sure that's not true!"

"Oh, yes it is," Zechs snorted. "He can burn water. The last time he tried to make toast, he set the kitchen on fire."

"You're hardly a culinary expert yourself, Zechs," Treize replied, chuckling.

"No, but I can make _toast_. And sandwiches without slicing my hand open, and soup without having it explode all over the cooker and…"

"Alright!" Treize cried, silencing the younger man by putting a hand over his mouth. "I admit it, I can't cook. I don't need to be able to cook – I'm a Colonel, I have other people to cook for me."

Zechs shook his head, trying to loosen the grip, digging his fingers into his commander's wrists. Treize merely smiled at him and didn't let go. Une was staring, wide-eyed, and Noin was almost doubled over, giggling.

"Mmphh!"

"Stop struggling, Zechs, and I'll let you go," Treize murmured and looked at Noin. "As I was saying – if you wish to cook, please feel free. I'm certain you'll find the kitchen fully stocked."

"Thank you, sir. Do you have any preferences?"

"I've always liked Italian, Lucrezia," Treize answered, with a lazy smile. "Stop struggling, Zechs."

Noin bit off another bout of giggles, catching Une's expression out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't the only one, then, to notice that there was a tone to the general's voice that suggested he'd said those words to the younger man in other contexts.

"Well, it's easy to see the two of you grew up together, sir," she began, hoping to deflect any suspicion.

"Oh?"

"Yes, sir. One of my cousin's has two sons – they'd be ten and seven now – and they're forever carrying on with each other like that."

"Ah. Must drive their mother quite to distraction, then. I know we did with mine." He turned his head to look at the younger man and smiled. "Zechs…"

A moment later, he gave a yelp and snatched his hand back. Zechs sat up, smirking. "Thank you for the reminder, Noin. I'd forgotten how to get him to let go till you said that."

"What did you do?"

"He bit me!"

"It's no more than you wanted, pinning me down like that."

"Oh?"

Noin was fighting to get a deep breath between her bouts of laughter. Though she'd made it up on the spot as an excuse – she didn't have any cousins – she strongly suspected that there was a grain of truth to the story that would make it all the more believable. Treize was displaying the same careless youthful quality that had lit him on Christmas morning, and Zechs, glaring at him from underneath mussed hair, seemed perfectly cast in the role of rebellious younger brother. For the first time since learning that Zechs had been raised by the Khushrenadas, Noin began to see that his childhood had contained something other than brooding angst and revenge-driven discipline.

Now, if only Une didn't notice the deeper meaning to their words, or the look in Treize's dark eyes…

A quick flick of those eyes in the Lady's direction told Noin that her commander wasn't unaware of the problem and he got to his feet, collecting empty glasses.

"I'll be back in a moment," he murmured and made his way to the bar again.

Une watched him go and then stood up abruptly. "Excuse me," she snapped and walked away too, heading in the direction the restrooms.

Zechs and Noin were left staring at one another.

**********************

Une made her way to the ladies bathroom at a brisk walk, refusing to give in to her desire to run as fast as she could and so make a spectacle of herself.

Once through the door, she glanced around quickly and discovered to her relief that she was alone. Allowing her body to sag back against the door, she stared at her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. It did nothing to improve her mood.

Her hair was a mess, her makeup had started to blur, the alcohol had brought a hectic flush to her cheeks and nose, and her eyes were wide and dilated. She looked like a shock victim, as though she were about to collapse, and that irritated her. She wasn't that fragile; never mind that it wasn't so far from the truth.

Straightening her shoulders, she made her way to the row of sinks, took her brush from the small clutch bag she'd brought with her, and began to yank it through her hair, ignoring the tremor in her hands as she restored order to the heavy mass until it fell in perfectly organised waves around her face. Her next task was to repair her makeup, but as she lifted the little compact kit out of her bag, the trembling of her hands made her grip falter and it slid to the floor with a clatter.

Une stared at it.

It, like everything else around her, refused to do as she wished. For a moment, she closed her eyes and gave one quiet sob. Then she bent down, swept the kit into her hands and set it on the counter.

It didn't matter that she was trembling, that she could still feel the warmth of his hand against hers, see the look in his eyes. It didn't matter that she wanted to throw something, or curl in on herself and cry. That wasn't who she was – and now, more than ever, she needed to be true to herself.

They had lied to her. _He_ had lied to her. With his words, with his actions, he had tried to deceive her, but he had underestimated her, because he had never really taken the time to get to know her. It was the first tactical mistake she had ever known him make.

Une had been putting together the truth for months now, piecing together snippets of conversation, exchanged looks, the tone of a voice, the brush of a hand. There was more to Major Marquise than anyone else knew – she had been certain of that from the moment she had met him. Now, she knew why.

It had been a clever story they had concocted – too clever for the one who must sustain it. They had made him into a nobody, but they hadn't taught him how to move like a nobody. They had woven layer upon layer of lies around him, intricate as Brussels lace, but someone had forgotten to take the scissors from his hands. Zechs Marquise was no illegitimate Khushrenada cousin and he showed it with everything he did. He was too clever, too talented, too beautiful, and too proud. The man smashed his own protection every time he breathed.

She had always known that his story didn't hold up but until Christmas she hadn't had any idea as to why. Noin had given her the first clue – in telling her that Zechs was a Count of the shattered Sanc Kingdom, she had set Une looking in a direction she had never thought to go. Timothy Catalonia had been most informative. In the hour or two she had spent with him at the Ball, he had all but completed her picture for her. It was no surprise that Catalonia's career was going nowhere – she had gotten what she wanted from him with no more than a smile or two and a few veiled questions.

A few hours of research at the base had given her the rest.

She had intended to confront the Major personally, but then Noin had begun looking herself and she had come to the conclusion that it would suit her purposes better to let the younger woman break the ice for her. The argument between the two pilots had told her everything she needed to know. There were few reasons why Marquise would have hit a woman, especially that woman. No doubt, Noin had gone in there all guns blazing.

The results hadn't been as she expected though. Instead of driving a wedge of resentment between the two of them, it had seemed to draw them closer, and the interception of an email sent from the Major to Mr. Treize had stopped the rest of her plans in their tracks and made her think. To out the lost Prince as who he was would cast suspicion on anyone who had any close ties to him. There would be no way that her commander could avoid his own name being implicated – Treize's family, and in the past few years, Treize himself, had spent no small amount of time and money making sure nobody ever looked too closely at the starling in their nest.

Though she had been disappointed that she would have to keep her silence, it wasn't so great of a blow – information such as this never outlived its value and in truth, it had proven almost reassuring. She had, at last, a reasonable explanation for the closeness of the relationship between her commanding officer and his top pilot. And surely, given that they had been raised almost as brothers, the chemistry she had seen between them – the spark they had seemed dangerously close to acting upon – would never lead to anything else, simply because they would never think of each other in such a way.

She had relaxed, forgotten her jealousy, and been sure that Treize was drawing closer to her than ever before, sure that the bond between Zechs and Noin was developing too.

Until tonight.

For a few brief minutes on the plane, she had been happier than she had ever been in her life. He had taken her hand, told her he would look after her, and she hadn't missed the way he was staring at her fingers.

No more than she had missed the way he had split their party up to keep Zechs at his side. No more than she had missed the way the two men were speaking to each other in the lounge and the way they were acting. When she'd thought they were blind to the heat between them, she had been wrong. Very wrong. Whatever was going on was mature enough that they were playing around with the dominating side Une had always suspected she would find underneath the guise of elegant nobleman Treize wore. Worse still, they had been doing so long enough that the so-unsubtle, so-unimaginative Major was comfortable with it.

She had frozen from the shock for an instant, and then her tactician's brain had fired up and she had looked to the younger woman seated beside her, ready to fall back on her original plan – only to have Noin concoct that story designed to cover for them.

That had been the final straw. Not one of her plans had included a scenario where the other woman knew and supported what was happening – how could she, when she was as in love with Zechs as Une was with Treize? In one brief instant, Noin had gone from being her strongest ally, to the most dangerous opponent she'd face.

For all that she had been sat in a crowded room, she had been alone.

The sound of the door opening made her turn her head, but to her relief it wasn't the Captain. Une looked at her reflection again and found herself wishing for her uniform.

After all, what else should one wear to declare war?

Slowly, she picked up her kit and began to fix her makeup – if she couldn't have her uniform, she could at least have a mask of perfection on her face. When she was done, she put the compact away and went back into the main room, smiling as she sat down.

They had no way to know it but Noin's defection had left her with only one course of action open to her. In order to untangle Zechs from Treize, she would have to destroy him.


	10. Chapter 10

"…if they made the mobile suits out of plastic, 'cause then they'd have to make the little kits out of titanium and I made a model once for my tutor out of cardboard which _he_…" An accusing finger wavered in the general direction of his commanding officer. "…attached a rocket to and tried to send it into space… it caught fire! But that wouldn't happen to plastic and it'd be so much cheaper…. Whaddaya think, Treize?"

Treize shook his head. "I think I'm never letting you drink again."

Zechs blinked at this, blue eyes widening as he tried to process the older man's words through the alcohol soaking his brain. "I love you," he responded eventually, seemingly unaware that this did not follow from the previous conversation at all.

From the kitchen, where she had gone to make coffee, Treize heard Noin dissolve into laughter and smiled to himself, thanking whatever gods had inspired him to move the rest of their evening back to their lodge shortly after Une's return from the restroom. It had transpired with increasing amounts of liquor that the normally taciturn pilot talked when drunk. In fact, he positively babbled, and nothing he said made any sense. Hence, his assertion that all new mobile suits should be made out of plastic.

"I do, I love you. And I love Noin and…"

"Thank you, Zechs," Noin replied, setting three cups and the pot of coffee down in the middle of the table. Treize nodded his thanks, and began pouring the rich black liquid into the cups, pushing one of them, without sugar or cream, towards the younger man. "Drink that, Zechs."

"Huh? Alright. I love Noin… but I don't think I love anyone else. I pretend that I do, 'cause I have to, see, but I don't – the only people I really love are you two…"

Noin choked on her coffee, wiping at her eyes as she howled with laughter. "God, sir, make him stop. It hurts!"

Treize watched her with gentle eyes, wondering if he'd ever been young enough to giggle at the antics of a friend like that. In an organisation that was becoming increasingly elitist and claustrophobic, Noin, with her straight-forward manner and willing smile, was a much-needed breath of air, as she had been since he'd met her as a cadet willing to tell her commander to stop being prejudiced because she was female. He hoped nothing ever happened to change her, and as he looked at her he made a decision about her future.

"I don't think anything is going to stop him until he's sober again, Lucrezia."

"Well, thank God Lady Une went to bed. I don't think she'd have appreciated this much."

"Almost certainly not. You don't have to stay up – I can manage him."

"It's alright, sir, I'm enjoying myself. It's… nice seeing him so relaxed."

Treize smiled. "It is, but I'm going to have to find another way. If I'd known he was going to go on like this…!"

Noin shrugged. "Everyone does something weird when they're drunk, sir. Zechs talks, I sing – it could be worse."

"How so?"

"He could get weepy, or angry… I've known a few people who were completely placid until they got drunk."

"So have I." He hesitated. "I sleep."

"I'm… sorry?"

"If I drink enough to actually become truly affected by it, I go to sleep."

Noin smiled. "Lucky you, sir," she said, somehow not surprised. It was as unusual for her commanding officer to sleep any decent amount as it was for Zechs to talk this much – some of the nastier stories suggested that the real Treize Khushrenada had never been seen, and, in fact, the organisation was figure-headed by a team of identical doubles, because there was no way one man could do everything Treize appeared to – and she couldn't imagine her commanding officer doing anything less than refined. If he had been cursed with the tendency to do anything foolish, he would never touch alcohol at all.

Treize shrugged, sipping his own coffee. "I suppose it could be worse, but there have been times… especially before I had any tolerance for alcohol. I'm told I fell asleep stood up once, at one of my parents' parties. I was fourteen, on leave from the Academy, and they'd decided I was allowed to drink with dinner. Sparkling white wine and it went straight to my head."

Noin giggled, though she was a bit taken aback by the fact that he was willing to share such personal information with her.

"We should annexe this place," Zechs said suddenly.

"What?"

"Take it over… the whole region. Make it our kingdom, then we could just stay here!"

"Zechs…"

"We could make this place our Palace and…"

Treize was caught somewhere between laughter and disapproval. "I'm not sure about that, Zechs."

"Why not?" the blond asked him. "It'd make a nice palace!" He frowned, thinking. "Let's see… Noin could be a princess and Une could… uhm… I'll think of something later… and then Treize could be a Queen, and I…"

"Hey!"

Noin bit her lip, trying not to laugh at her commander's expression – clearly, he didn't appreciate the implications of that title.

Zechs smiled at him. "You'd make a good Queen – I should know!"

Treize got to his feet, moving to stand behind the younger man. Long fingers rested on slumped shoulders. "Zechs, hush. Tell me more about your idea for the mobile suits."

"But I need to…"

"You need to be quiet – before you say something you shouldn't," Treize murmured, leant down and kissed the younger man. The pilot melted into it, his body turning pliant to Treize's hold as he made some small noise in the back of his throat.

"S'nice…" he whispered.

"Yes, it is," the general confirmed, dropping to sit on the arm of the chair. "Are you tired yet?"

Zechs shook his head. "No."

"Damn."

Noin giggled, reminding Treize that she was there. He looked at her and smiled. "Lucrezia – I have a rather odd request for you."

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you know how to make hot chocolate?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled at her again. "Would you mind? It may well be the only way we're going to get any sleep tonight…"

Noin blinked, pushing up from the table. "Sir?" she asked, but her commander merely nodded at her, the look in his eyes enigmatic. She bit off her grin. "I'll be back in a minute, sir."

Treize watched her slender figure disappear under the archway that led to the kitchen, and then turned his attention to the younger man, lifting a hand so he could run it though his heavy hair.

True to word, Noin was back rather swiftly, balancing mugs of frothed, sweet-smelling liquid on an ornate little tray. Carefully, clearly trying not to spill, she set the tray down on the table and handed two of the cups across to Treize, sighing with relief as she sipped the foam from the top of her own drink and sat down again.

Treize selected one of the mugs she had given him, seemingly at random, and pressed it into Zechs's hands in place of the empty coffee cup. "You might want to remember this trick, Lucrezia," he told her, picking up the last mug. "I have no doubt you may find it useful someday."

"What trick, sir?"

"Keep watching," he instructed and Noin, like the good soldier she tried to be, obeyed his orders. She was surprised when, scant minutes later, her classmate closed his eyes and rested his head against their commander's side, looking for all the world as though he were going to fall asleep there.

"Sir?" she asked Treize.

A gentle smile lit the general's features as he prised a half-full cup from slackening fingers before it could fall and spill all over the floor. "Know your subject, Lucrezia," he murmured. "There are only two things in this world that will put him to sleep. Being in a car is one, hot chocolate is the other – and it works every time."

"Oh," Noin replied and hoped she was hiding the swirl of her reactions from the older man. Whatever else he was, he was first and foremost her commander, and there were things she wouldn't have him see. Knowing just how much more he knew about their mutual love sent a surge of jealousy through her that made her stomach jump and all but wiped out the delight she felt at seeing the blond so unguarded. Was it fair of the universe to have given her a rival she had no hope of competing with?

Treize stood up and patted Zechs on the shoulder. "Come on, you can't sleep here."

"Hmm?"

"You can't stay here, and you've long since gotten too big for me to carry. You'll have to walk."

"Oh…" Zechs stumbled to his feet, trying to follow the instruction the older man was giving him, and made his way in a weaving line across the room to the foot of one of the staircases.

Noin snorted with laughter, her wash of jealousy gone as quickly as it had arrived. "That's cute, sir. I would never have guessed – hot chocolate as a sedative for the Lightning Baron."

"Quite. Good night, Lucrezia."

"Sir."

Graceful as he ever was, despite the fact that he had drunk far more than any of his junior officers, Treize followed the younger man up the stairs. For a minute or two, Noin stayed sat at the table, finishing her drink and thinking, then she gathered herself, cleared the cups away and turned for the second flight of steps leading to her own room.

**********************

The layout of the resort had been a good part of what had decided Treize upon it as their destination for this weekend. A group of cottages lay scattered through landscaped grounds – currently under feet of snow – connected to the main lodge by covered meandering walkways. That central building held all the luxuries of a top-class hotel, from the lavishly appointed reception area and bar to various places to eat, a ballroom for those inclined to dance, and even a small theatre.

The cottages themselves had been built with three floors and an eye to the maximum amount of privacy. The lowest level held the kitchen that Noin was so eager to try out, the dining room they had spent the latter part of the evening in, and a small, snug-seeming lounge. From a small lobby, two flights of spiralling steps rose into the upper floors of the cottage – one to the first floor and one to the second.

Noin and Une had the two bedrooms on that first floor, Zechs and Treize those on the second – though they'd likely only use one of them. The cleverness of the design ensured separation between their party, without the isolation of occupying different buildings. And, given that the stairs were carved from wood, there was no way that anyone could sneak up to the second floor without being heard. It was perfect for the general's purposes.

By the time Treize got to the top of the steps Zechs had managed to get the door to the room they had chosen open, but he hadn't turned on the light. Treize did that as he entered the room, and smiled when he caught sight of the pilot sprawled across the bed, having, the older man suspected, simply fallen onto it.

Sitting on the edge of the soft bed, the general shook his friend lightly. "Zechs, you need to change."

"What…?"

"You're still dressed. You need to change – you can't sleep in your boots!"

"Oh… no." Slowly, the blond levered himself to his feet and began to strip out of his clothes, swaying where he stood and fumbling as he pulled on what passed for his nightwear when he bothered wearing anything at all. Treize assumed that habit had developed on L2, when the pilot discovered that being in command meant that he would be woken at all sorts of hours, and that his aides wouldn't think twice about walking into his room to do it, and he smiled to himself. That, or Zechs was worried about sharing a bed with his commander.

Sure that Zechs wouldn't fall asleep half way out of his jumper, Treize turned his attention to his own nightly routine, and then climbed into the bed, pulling up the heavy covers to ward off the chill of the room. A moment later, Zechs joined him, all-but vanishing as he did so.

Treize chuckled. "Are you cold?"

"Yes!"

"Come here then." Gently he tugged on the younger man's arm until he rolled onto his side and Treize could draw them together. "Better?"

"Much…"

Tiny shifts settled them together. Treize bent his head and brushed his lips across the pilot's. "Good night, Zechs."

"…Night…"

Treize smiled, closing his own eyes as the stress of his globe hopping caught up with him. "You don't change, Zechs. Don't ever change…"

********************

A sudden lack of warmth and the sensation of the mattress moving beneath him disturbed Treize some hours later, jolting him from a deep sleep to almost-wakefulness. He rolled onto his side, folding the weight of the blankets more closely around himself and buried his head into the hollow he had made in his pillow as he sought to sink back into the vaguely erotic dream he'd been having.

From somewhere nearby, somebody gave a low moan, but the general wasn't entirely sure whether it was a part of his dream or not, and so didn't react – instead allowing himself to fall further back into the slumber his body was telling him he still needed. There were quick footsteps and then, a moment later, on the very edge of his awareness, the painful sounds of someone retching.

Something about that caught at his mind, but he was asleep again before he could chose to respond to it in any other way.

**************************

The second time Treize came up from his dreams, it was to open his eyes slowly to a room bathed in strong sunlight and stretch lazily, aware that he felt more rested than he had done in a long time. He had no idea of the time, and in all honesty, couldn't bring himself to care all that much, as he lay still for a moment, and then climbed out from beneath the sheets.

Zechs was gone, he noted, wondering absently how the younger man felt this morning. Given the state he'd been in when they went to bed, Treize doubted his friend felt well.

A tap on the door drew his attention and he crossed the room to open it. "Good morning, Lucrezia," he greeted, somehow not surprised that it was the Captain who was responsible for the hesitant rap.

"Good morning, sir… you asked me to wake you in time for breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you. I take it I should get dressed?"

Violet eyes seemed to take in his current state of dress, and then she shrugged. "I don't see why – Zechs isn't dressed yet."

"But you are, and I suspect Lady Une is, as well. It won't take me above five minutes. I'll join you shortly."

Noin smiled. "Yes, sir."

Treize closed his door behind her retreating figure and began to ready himself for the day in a hurry.

***********************

"You look shocking."

Zechs looked up from his contemplation of the contents of his coffee cup and tried to smile. "Thank you."

Treize sat down next to the younger man on the couch. "I'll take it you're hung-over?"

The blond shook his head, winced and sighed. "Probably."

"Have you eaten?" Treize asked, and snorted when his friend cringed. "You should – it does help."

"I've been telling him that all morning, sir. He won't believe me." Noin smiled at both men as she came into the room, Une behind her, and tried to hand Zechs a plate. The blond waved her away.

Treize laughed, watching the younger man pale as he caught the scent of the food she'd presented him with.

"You're enjoying watching me suffer, aren't you?" Zechs demanded, closing his eyes.

"Always," Treize murmured. He gave the younger man a moment to register the implications of that, and then smiled at him, pouring a glass of water from the jug on the table. "Here, take these." He passed the pilot the glass and a small bottle and watched as he shook out two of the tablets it held and dropped them in the water. "They should help."

Zechs swirled the glass. "Thank you," he replied and began drinking the contents.

Une leaned forward, brushing the crumbs of her croissant off her fingers. "What are we doing today, sir?"

Treize shrugged. "Whatever you chose to do, I would imagine. You need not wait for us if there's somewhere in particular you wanted to go."

Une and Noin exchanged looks.

"You wouldn't mind?" Noin asked.

"Not at all. There was a reason I hired two cars." Trieze cast a wary glance at Zechs. "I can't imagine we'll be going anywhere particularly interesting."

Noin laughed. "No, maybe not."

As one the two women stood up, and made for the stairs to collect their things, leaving with cheery calls of 'goodbye' a few minutes later.

Treize turned his attention to Zechs. "What do you want to do? We can simply go back to bed, if you wish?" To his surprise, the younger man shook his head.

"No. I don't know what was in those tablets, but they work."

Treize laughed. "Even Colonels suffer from hangovers, my friend, and yes, they do."

Zechs nodded. "Is there anything you want to do?"

Treize smiled as he stood up. "Not especially. Would you care to go to the local village? It isn't all that far."

The pilot shrugged. "Why not?"


	11. Chapter 11

The local village Treize had spoken of turned out to be a small hamlet almost three quarters of an hour's drive away from their resort, but its picturesque, Christmas card quality made it worth the journey. Timber-framed, thatched-roofed buildings lined narrow cobbled streets, and open market stalls surrounded the square in the centre of the town, vendors haggling and calling out as they sold their goods.

It was a charming step back into a world that hadn't truly existed for hundreds of years; an era that was only present in romanticized fashion in the classic literature Treize collected so avidly. That the whole village was designed to be a tourist trap was made obvious by the nature of the shops and businesses housed in the rows of buildings – antique shops, book sellers, tailors and souvenir stands – but somehow, that fact didn't detract from the appeal of the place and the two men spent a companionable hour or so wandering around and in and out of various shops.

At some point, Treize had tucked his arm through the younger man's, linking them together and slowing their pace to a lazy stroll, gesturing to things with his free hand as they walked and only letting go when he needed his hand for something. It was a charmingly intimate gesture, casually affectionate without being possessive.

"Where to next?" Treize asked Zechs. "Is there anything in particular that you wanted to look at?"

"Not particularly. You?"

Treize shook his head. "I'm content simply with the company – although, I confess, I wouldn't object to eating. If you think you can do so without turning that delightful shade of green you achieved at breakfast?"

Zechs glared his objection to his friend's teasing for a moment, then smiled. "I can try."

Treize returned the smile. "Alright then, where?"

"I'll leave that to you – given that you're the one who's actually hungry."

That response earned him a chuckle and a swift reversal of their steps until they came back to a small restaurant tucked down a side street that they had passed earlier in the day. Treize took the shallow steps up to the entrance two at a time and pushed open the door, making the bell fastened to the top of the doorframe ring brightly.

Given that it was the middle of winter, the weather was a little severe for most tourists, and the restaurant was almost empty, with only one or two tables filled. It took no more than a few seconds for a pretty young woman to come hurrying over to meet them. Her hair, pulled into a single braid along her straight, slender spine, was almost the shade of Zechs's own, and as Treize glanced round, he realised that the younger man was far less conspicuous this far north than he was in the heartlands of the Specials' operations. Although almost no-one had quite the same combination of bone structure, pale eyes and silvery hair, the Nordic complexion of the locals was a much closer match to the pilot's own than the darker hair and eye colouring of most of his fellow officers.

The little waitress stopped in front of them and smiled. "Hello – can I help you?" she asked, her voice accented.

"Har du en bordlägga för två som är, plaese?" Zechs murmured.

Treize's head whipped round in shock, and he stared at the younger man. The waitress's smile grew, but she was clearly surprised at being addressed in her native language.

"Yeas, naturligtvis, hitåt." Taking quick, little steps, she led the two of them over to a small table tucked into an alcove by a window and handed them menus, smiled again and hurried away.

Treize sat down, folded his hands on top of his menu and leaned across the table, lowering his voice. "What was that?" he asked.

Zechs looked up. "I asked her for a table. Swedish is very close to my own language."

"I gathered that much," the general replied, then hesitated. "You've surprised me," he admitted. "I didn't think you still knew much of your native language."

The pilot stared at him. "Of course I do," he corrected flatly, eyes sparking with some unnamed anger.

Treize sat back a little, raising an eyebrow. "Well, obviously. I just…didn't realise," he admitted.

"You thought I'd forgotten?" Zechs asked softly. "You should know better. I haven't forgotten _anything_, Treize. I never will. Of course I still speak my own language!"

"Clearly," Treize replied shortly, as it occurred to him that he'd just unintentionally opened a very sore subject between them.

In truth, though, Treize really hadn't thought Zechs remembered anything at all of his original language – certainly, he hadn't heard him use it before today in over a decade.

When Zechs had first arrived at the Khushrenada estates, he had already been fluent in the English the family used amongst themselves and had spoken it with no trouble, though he had, for the first few months, occasionally slipped if he was particularly excited about something. By the time Treize had left to join the military, lack of practice, and strong discouragement from his guardians – rightly believing it was too much of a clue as to his identity – had broken the boy of that habit.

Before his ninth birthday, Zechs had ceased to use his own dialect even in his dreams. When his nightmares made him scream, everything he said was clearly understandable.

That change had been comforting to no one. Treize had first heard it on leave from the Academy and could still recall the night with crystal clarity. After helping his mother settle the distraught child back to sleep, Treize had run back to his own rooms and all but collapsed onto his own bed. It had been one of the very few times he had cried since his own childhood.

The younger man gazed down at his menu without opening it, something other than anger flashing through his bright blue eyes that Treize couldn't identify.

"Have you forgotten where Sanc is?" the pilot asked quietly, his tone vibrating with intensity.

His question caught Treize a little off guard and he felt his body still. "No – of course not," he replied sharply. "What does that…?"

"So why are you so surprised that I can speak Swedish?" Zechs accused, interrupting.

"Oh…." Treize hesitated, picturing a map of Europe in his head. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "I am sorry. I hadn't realised we were so close!"

"No, I know that now," Zechs shook his head, suddenly seeming a little sad. "I thought you'd done it deliberately, you know? Bringing me up here. It's… very much the same as home would have been. I thought you'd meant to bring me as close as you could. It doesn't matter, though, if you didn't. It's nice anyway." He gestured with one hand in the direction of the door, not having to even look up to know. "Newport City is that way," he murmured softly. "I could fly you there in a little over an hour."

Treize reached out and rested his hands over the one Zechs had left on the table, pressing briefly. "I know, Zechs, and I'm sorry. I hadn't realised and I certainly wasn't aware the tongue was the same."

The pilot shook his head. "There _are_ differences… regional variations. I can't hold a detailed conversation, but I can make myself understood."

Treize nodded. "Obviously." There was an awkward silence for a minute or two, and then he forced himself to smile. "So, do you want to eat?"

*****************************

It began to snow as they resumed their stroll after their meal; soft, heavy flakes that clung to everything they touched, obliterating footprints and stains under a layer of white which turned the world cold and silent. Treize had glanced at the darkening sky and scowled, Zechs had merely shrugged.

Their walk had taken them out of the centre of the village, back in the general direction of their car, and though they roughly followed the route they had taken on their way in, there were some detours in order to look at things they had missed. The lake was one of those things, and the cries of children echoed in the still air as they drew closer to its edge and stopped to watch.

The general smiled. "I haven't done that in years."

"Hmm?"

"Skated," Treize clarified, gesturing to the children whizzing backwards and forwards across the frozen surface of the water.

Zechs returned his smile. "Neither have I. Would you care to try it now?"

"Good God, no!" Treize laughed. "I have no desire to make a fool of myself."

"I'm sure you wouldn't. I remember you being quite good."

"That was ten years ago, Zechs." The elder man glanced at his friend and smirked. "I won't stop you if you wish to, though."

The pilot shook his head. "Oh, no…"

"Are you sure? I'm quite content to sit and watch."

"No, I'm sure. I only suggested it because you seemed to want to."

"Ah." Treize chuckled suddenly. "You have snow in your hair, my friend."

Zechs raised one hand to his head, feeling for confirmation. "So do you," he returned, brushing the worst of the flakes away.

"Doubtless I have, but mine won't take till tomorrow to dry out."

"Not quite that long, but I agree with the sentiment. We should stop dawdling, shouldn't we?"

"What are holidays for, if not to dawdle?" Treize asked the air. "But, yes, we should be on our way back. I don't want to drive in snowfall much heavier than this."

"No, it wouldn't be wise," Zechs agreed, and cast one more wistful glance at the children playing on the ice before following the older man from the lake.

***********************

The car, as it had been the day before, was deliciously warm after the chill of the air outside, especially when Treize turned the heating to full as he pulled away from the car park.

"May I ask you something, Zechs?" the older man asked, as they turned onto the main road.

"Of course."

"Do you think Lucrezia would appreciate becoming a teacher?"

Zechs turned his head to look at his commander, surprised at the question and at Treize asking for his opinion in a military matter – something he had never done before. "Why do you ask?" he enquired.

"There's a post I'm going to need to fill in a few months – I was considering her for it, but I'm not sure she'd welcome it. I have no wish to displease so talented an officer by placing her where she doesn't want to be."

"It would depend on the nature of the post, I would imagine. What were you thinking of?"

Treize smiled slowly. "Senior Instructor at the Lake Victoria Academy."

Zechs blinked his shock. "That's… quite a promotion," he said, eventually.

The general laughed at him. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "I'm not fool enough to attempt it in one step – that's why I'm asking you now. What do you think?"

Zechs sat back, mulling it over in his mind. "Why Noin?" he asked.

Treize gave him one of his little quick glances and frowned. "You have noticed what I'm doing to the Specials, haven't you?"

The question was innocuous, but still Zechs got the impression that his answer needed to be what Treize wanted to hear. "If you mean, have I noticed the changes in personnel you've made, of course I have. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything." The general paused, and Zechs scowled – obviously, he had missed something he shouldn't have, and the older man was disappointed, but Treize should have realised by now that Zechs didn't have his head for plots and politics.

"Zechs… in the last eight months, Lady Une and I have completely re-structured the Specials. We've redesigned the chain of command and the operation of the unit. We've reassigned, retired or removed over fifty officers in key posts and replaced them with our own choices – and I invite you to look at the names of those officers and draw your own conclusions as to why. We've opened five new bases, upgraded almost all of our existing ones and Marshall Noventa was absolutely right when he told Septum to suspect our reported strength was wrong. That report was one of the Lady's greatest works of fiction, and only she and I have ever seen the true figures." He glanced sideways again. "You had noticed some of that, hadn't you?"

Zechs stiffened. "I told you, I'd noticed the changes in personnel, and of course I'd noticed our new bases, but…" He shook his head. "Why would you do that? And what does that have to do with Noin?"

Treize smiled. Smiled in the fashion Zechs had only ever seen him direct at Alliance generals, or Colonial diplomats – slow, empty and sinister. "I'm merely obeying orders from above. Romefeller has its plans for us – you know that." He gestured with his free hand, and the smile suddenly became genuine. "As for the lovely Lucrezia Noin – the only place I haven't yet tackled is the Academy. The Alliance holds the reins of the Academy very closely to its chest, trying to ensure the Specials don't do exactly what I'm about to ensure they will. General Catalonia set the entry requirements carefully whilst he had command, but he had to fight against a lot of existing infrastructure. Around – oh, the middle of April or so – the current Senior Instructor is going to have a heart attack in his sleep. With only two weeks to the start of the new class, the Academy will have no choice but to accept whomever I choose to replace him with. I'm going to replace him with someone I know is loyal – to me. And change the lessons the cadets learn from the top down."

"So, Noin… because…?" Zechs asked, trying not to show his reaction to Treize's casual mention of assassination.

"Because she's the best possible choice for the job, of course. My justification would simply be the truth – one of our best pilots passing on her knowledge. I trust her, and I think she has qualities my cadets need to absorb." He shrugged. "Because she'd enjoy teaching – I hope. Am I wrong about that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes – I told you, I won't put her where she won't be happy. I have five other options for her if that one won't suit."

Zechs bit his lip. "No… she'd like it, I think. She hates fighting."

"I know – that was my other reason. It will keep her out of front-line combat – about the only thing that will in the middle of a war."

"A war?" Zechs asked. "We aren't at war."

"Not yet," Treize agreed. "In two years we will be."

"How can you possibly know that!?" Zechs demanded.

Treize shot him another look. "I simply do," he replied, and sighed. "What did you think all this agitation on the part of the rebels was leading up to? We've been hearing rumours for months now about some plan of theirs – Operation 'M', I believe they've called it. Probability dictates that they'll launch a full scale attack before the next two years are out and we'll have no choice but to go to war." He shrugged, and, suddenly, that cold little smile was back. "And if they don't start it – I will."

The younger man stared at him. "Why?!" he demanded, feeling ice chase through him.

Treize tightened his fingers on the steering wheel, staring out at the road. "There's no such thing as a bloodless revolution, my friend," he said quietly. "I'm going to do what I promised you I'd do – destroy the Alliance and give you the peace your family has fought to achieve for centuries."

"By starting a war?!" Zechs shook his head. "My family were pacifists!"

"No – not _a_ war," Treize corrected. "The last war." He caught Zechs's wrist with his free hand. "Pacifism won't accomplish anything whilst it simply dictates that it's wrong to fight. Destroying all the weapons in the world won't achieve a thing. It's the minds and hearts of the people that must be convinced."

Zechs quieted. "I've heard you say that before," he murmured, turning Treize's hand over in his own and running his fingers along the fine lines of the elder man's palm and the faint traces of calluses caused by hundreds of hours of piloting.

"I know you have – and it's the truth. I'm going to start a war so terrible that no one will ever consider fighting another, burn a hatred for battle into every person in the world – and then I'm going to give you back your crown. I'm not going to run the planet," Treize added with a smile, tweaking Zechs with his own words of the day before. "You are."

The younger man sat in silence for a moment, thinking, considering his father's reaction to this scheme. Slowly, decision made, he released his commander's hand, leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "So be it," he agreed.

He felt the wave of approval and affection coming from his friend, but as he slid into the sleep cars always seemed to lure him into, he mentally edited Treize's vision – to include a child the older man didn't know was still alive.

The image of Relena, as he had seen her last – her honey coloured hair teased by the wind and her voice, sweet and high pitched, so clear and sure as she argued with him – floated in his mind as he tumbled under.

*****************************

Har du en bordlägga för två som är, plaese? – _Have you a table for two, please?_

Yeas, naturligtvis, hitåt. – _Yes, of course, this way._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_The thunder woke him from his sleep._

_He hadn't been asleep long – he didn't think – but it was late enough that it had gone completely dark, and there was only the light from the window for him to see by as he sat up slowly, searching the sky for signs of the lightning that always came after the rumbling boom._

_It was a clear night, the stars shining down, but in the distance were the heavy black clouds that must hold his thunder storm. He'd always liked thunderstorms._

_Carefully, he pushed the blankets back from his bed and allowed his feet to slide to the floor, wriggling his toes into the soft pile of his carpet. Going up on tiptoe, and listening carefully for any signs that he was going to get caught, he crept across his bedroom and climbed onto the window seat to look over the palace gardens._

_There was a sliver of light coming around the door from the room beyond, and if he strained his ears over the roll of the thunderclaps, he could hear that Relena had woken up as well and was crying because she was afraid. For a moment he considered going to see her – she wouldn't be afraid if he was there, he knew – but then there was a flash through his window, and the chance to see the lightning won out over his worry for his sister. Her nurse would look after her._

_The storm was coming in from the edge of the city, over the sea his mother liked to look at so much, and from the other side as well. He frowned – were there two storms at the same time? He'd never seen that before._

_He'd never seen lightning that colour before either – and it seemed to be coming from the ground, not from the sky. He scowled, trying to puzzle this out, but soon gave it up in favour of asking his tutor in the morning._

_The thunder rolled again, and he shivered. It sounded much closer this time, almost as if the storm were right on top of the palace. There was sound under the thunder that he didn't recognise. Kneeling up as much as he could, he put his hands against the glass for balance on the squashy cushions and looked out at his city._

_He froze as the door from the corridor opened and somebody else crossed behind his door, plunging his room into complete darkness for a second or two._

"_My Lady?" The nurse's voice seemed strange to the boy. "What's happening? Is it…?"_

"_Yes, they've come." _

_The voice that answered the nurse belonged to his mother, but there was none of her laughter in it – she sounded as serious as she did when she had to tell him off about something, and he wondered why._

"_Dress the children, my dear, as warmly as you can," she continued, "and bring them downstairs to my husband's study. I'll meet you there – I have to try to contact someone…"_

"_Yes, my Lady."_

"_Good girl."_

_There was a rustle of silk on satin – his mother was still wearing her party dress – and then she was gone._

_Carefully, the boy scrambled down from the window and made his way to his wardrobe. His mother had asked the nurse to dress them, but he was too old now to need help from her. He would dress himself, and then go and meet her in Relena's room. Quickly, he pulled on the first clothes his hands could reach and ran across his room._

_His hand on the door handle, he stopped, some instinct making him go back for the brand new fencing foil his Aunt and Uncle had sent him for his birthday today, after their son had told them how good he was at sword play._

_He pulled open his bedroom door, noting that Relena was still crying, and the same instinct that had made him get his sword, caused him to duck down and cover his head as a high, searing whistle split the air._

_It saved his life._

_The room exploded into flying glass and flame as the first shell struck the palace grounds._

"_Mama! Maaama!"_

_Relena's terrified shrieks roused him from the stunned sprawl he had landed in on the floor. Dizzy, his hearing masked by a hollow__ringing in his ears, he pulled himself to his feet and ran, staggering, across the burning playroom. He was a Prince and it was a Prince's job to look after all Princesses. Especially this Princess._

"_Maaaamaaa!"_

_He reached the door to her room and leaned against it with all his weight to force it open._

_His sister was standing in the middle of the room, tears streaming down from her wide blue eyes. Her face and hands, her short golden hair and her pink wool dress were splattered with blood and a quick glance round showed him that it had come from the body of their nurse. A beam had fallen from the ceiling, crushing her beneath it._

_He swallowed, trying not to be sick._

_Relena shrieked again._

"_Lena, shh! Come here!"_

_Her panicked cries for her mother stopped as she saw her brother in the door._

"_Come on, Lena. Mama said we've to go downstairs!"_

_Unsteady steps brought her to his side, and he took her hand, pulling her from the collapsing nursery, through the playroom, coughing on the smoke rising from the burning furniture, and their toys, and out into the corridor. The air was clear here, and cool, but from all over the palace, he could hear the sounds of panic and the servants running. _

_Thinking quickly, he fastened the belt of his sword around his waist and picked up the little girl, balancing her slight weight on his hip, knowing he could run much faster than she could if they had to. He hurried for the stairs that led to the ground floor and ran down them as fast as he could._

_The tall figure of his father met him at the bottom and hurried him through to his study._

"_Milliardo! Where's the nurse?" he asked, glancing over the two of them._

_The boy looked up, still holding Relena. "She's – she's not coming. I heard mama say we'd to…"_

"_Clever boy!" His father smiled at him beneath his beard, his pale eyes showing his love for his only son and heir._

_His mother came up from a small staircase he had never seen before, the entrance set into the floor so that it would be hidden by the carpet. "Milliardo! Relena! Thank God – I thought…" She closed her eyes for a moment, her hands shaking, then opened them again and looked at her husband._

"_Did you get the messages through?" he asked, and she nodded._

"_John promised he'd come, and Anna said Tristan was already on a plane. She's been trying to contact me all afternoon to warn us, but she couldn't get through. They must have cut the lines."_

"_Of course." He paused and took her shoulders into his hands. "Giselle – take the children and go. You can meet John or Tristan out of the city and…"_

_The Queen shook her head. "I'm too well known, Friedrich. If I were stopped, I'd be recognised and then they'd know who the children are. I won't take that risk."_

"_If you stay here… I won't fight."_

"_Of course you won't, my love." She rested a delicate hand on his cheek for a moment. "I've sent Pagan to the city – he's going to try to meet with Tristan and John."_

"_Giselle…"_

"_I'm your Queen, my love. My place is here."_

_The boy watched as his parents looked at each other for a moment, and then he jumped as another explosion tore through the Palace._

_Friedrich Peacecraft shot one last, painful look at his children. "Make me proud of you, my son," he murmured and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. There were new voices, now, shouting and heavy footsteps._

"_Hide, Milliardo! Take Relena and hide!" his mother hissed, stepping between her children and the door. "Down those stairs!" She pointed to the hatch he had seen her come out from. "Close the door behind you and no matter what happens, don't open it for anyone except Pagan, Mr Darlian, or Duke Khushrenada. Do you understand?!"_

"_Yes, mama." The boy forced down his fear, and straightened tiny shoulders – his mother was trusting him to protect his sister, and he would._

"_Good boy." She knelt and pulled them both into her arms, kissing them once, each. The boy could smell the sweet scent of her perfume. "Remember, I love you…" she pleaded. "Now, go!"_

_He felt her hands on his shoulders as he ran for the door she had shown him and scurried down the steps. The door closed when he pulled on the handle, and he strained to reach up far enough to turn the key in the lock._

_There were more screams now, and the sound of gunfire – recognised from the times he had seen his father and his friends target shooting on the grounds. Relena was crying softly, unable to understand what was happening and he put her down, holding her frail little body behind his own, as he peered through the keyhole into the study._

_His father backed into the room, holding up his hands to show they had nothing in them, until he was standing almost on top of the hatch. Three men followed him, their uniforms marking them as military. Two held guns and one a knife. _

_His mother wrapped her hands around her husband's arm, speaking, arguing – though he couldn't hear what she was saying. She spat something else, and one of the men raised a hand and slapped her across the face, snapping her head round with the force. She would have fallen, but her husband caught her and steadied her. His face showed sudden anger. He took a step towards the man in the middle – the one who had struck his wife – and the man raised the gun in his hand, levelled it at the King's forehead, and fired._

_The bullet shattered his skull – splashing bright blood and fragments of bone across the rich carpet._

_The boy bit his lip to keep quiet, not noticing when blood began to spill down his chin. His hand across her mouth kept his sister from giving them away._

_Giselle screamed her husband's name as she was dragged from the side of his fallen corpse. Light flashed off silver and her scream died as her throat was cut open, her blood pouring down the front of her dress. The man turned and left, and as her dress turned from white to scarlet, she collapsed to the floor, her body falling on top of the door that concealed her children._

_The boy watched, unable to look away, as her blood began to seep through the latch. It fell warm onto his clothes, and her eyes fixed, staring, onto his, dull and lifeless, until the thunder began again and something struck him sharply on the temple, stealing away his consciousness._

*************************

Zechs jolted awake, the image of his mother burning behind his eyes, the echo of his cry dying in the close air of the car as it swerved wildly.

Treize shot him a horrified look, swearing fluently as he slammed his foot onto the brakes, throwing them both hard against their seatbelts as they screeched to a sudden halt. "Christ!" he gasped, letting go of the steering wheel and straightening up. "Are you trying to get us both killed!?" he demanded, feeling his heart leap in his chest.

There was no reply. The pilot stayed bent forward, one hand pressed to his forehead under his hair, his breath coming in laboured pants. Treize put a hand on his arm and shook him roughly.

"Zechs!"

"Oh, God…" The younger man's voice was a ragged moan, and then he was moving – earning his reputation for speed as he freed his seatbelt, flung open the door and threw himself out into the snow, where he began retching convulsively.

The general stared after him for a moment, before he gathered enough composure to get out of the car himself. He walked around the front of the car, and then leaned on it, relaxing as the adrenaline rush subsided, staying a pace or two away from the pilot in an attempt at privacy. It became quickly apparent that, for all his body's efforts, there was nothing in his stomach for his friend to bring up – unsurprising, since his lunch in the restaurant had consisted of water – and that this was merely reaction to whatever had caused him to wake so violently.

Sighing, Treize bent down, scooped up a handful of snow and closed the distance between them. Using the heat from his hands to melt the snow, he swept the blonde's hair to one side and allowed the melt-water to trickle onto the back of his neck.

"Breathe, Zechs," he instructed quietly. "Just breathe."

The touch of the icy water brought a shuddering inhalation from the younger man. He swayed, stumbling and the general caught him, strong hands closing on his forearms, as the world faded to grey for a moment.

"Breathe," Treize repeated, bracing them both against the dead weight his companion became for a second. "You aren't going to do something so idiotic as fainting."

The pilot made a sound that could equally have been giggle or sob, but he steadied and pulled away from his commander's supporting hold. He took a few unsteady steps, putting space between them, and turned around. "… I'm sorry…" he murmured.

Treize waved his apology away, not liking the pallor of his friend's skin, nor the trembling in the hand that still clutched at his temple. He reached out and grasped the pilot's wrist, tugging gently. "Did you hit your head?" he asked.

"What…?" Zechs blinked, and let Treize pull his hand away. "No…"

There was no mark on his skin bar the imprints of his fingers, and the faint line of an old scar that was usually hidden under his hair. Treize brushed his thumb across that scar, remembering where it had come from. "You were dreaming," he stated, recognising now the dazed look in the boy's eyes. Despite the freezing air around them, he was starting to sweat and his skin was chilled and clammy beneath the general's hand.

"Yes."

Treize nodded, restraining the barrage of questions forming in his mind, at least for the moment. "Get back in the car," he ordered, dropping his hand and giving the pilot a push in the right direction. Zechs complied without protest, sliding his body into his seat, moving from memory and not thought.

Treize waited until he'd fastened his seatbelt, and then leaned across him, reached into the glove box and handed him the water stored there. "Here. Drink it."

"You look like your father," Zechs murmured, glancing up at him.

"I know." He stepped back, walked around the car and got in the driver's side. "What made you say that?" he asked as he started the engine.

Zechs was staring down at the water clutched between his hands. "I don't know. A flash of… something… Your father, leaning down and telling me to drink. I don't know when, though."

"Ah." Treize concentrated on the road for a moment. "Zechs, I didn't give you that for you to look at."

The pilot looked at his friend blankly, confused, then he twisted the top off the bottle and began taking small sips, resisting the sudden, overwhelming urge to gulp at the liquid.

"You were dreaming about Sanc, weren't you?" Treize asked eventually.

"Yes."

The general frowned. "Then I owe you an apology," he murmured, pulling the car to halt at the resort.

"Why?"

"I really shouldn't have brought you here. I didn't realise, but I should have. It's too… close. And I shouldn't have told you my plans like that…"

"It's not your fault – please don't think that it is. I love this place," he added, gesturing at his surroundings. "I enjoyed being able to talk in my native dialect again, even if it was only a few words. I'm glad that you trust me enough to tell me your plans for the future."

The general took all of this in as he unlocked the cottage, and shook his head. "That's as may be – but when it results in you having nightmares so severe you wake screaming, I know I've done you no favours, no matter what you say to convince me otherwise."

Zechs shrugged out of his coat and leaned against the wall. "It hasn't resulted in my nightmares. I was having them before you brought me here."

Treize turned from hanging up his own coat, forehead creased in concern. "For how long?"

"Most of the week – I haven't slept much since I spoke to Noin." He shrugged, turning away and making his way into the lounge. "You needn't worry. I'm used to them and they'll pass in a day or two. I only mentioned them to convince you that you hadn't done anything wrong." He could feel Treize's eyes on the back of his head and he wasn't surprised when the older man caught his arm.

"I needn't worry? Of course I'm worried! You haven't dreamed like this for years."

The gaze Zechs turned on him was sympathetic, a little sad, and far older than the man behind it. "I've never stopped having nightmares, Treize."

"I know you still do occasionally," Treize agreed, though, in truth, he had known no such thing and had assumed Zechs had grown out of the things years before. "But not like this. When was the last time you experienced this? The same thing every time you go to sleep?"

The younger man shrugged. "A while," he admitted. "It's not so surprising, really, and it will stop soon. Let it go, please."

"How am I supposed to let it go when it affects you like this?"

Zechs dropped onto the sofa wearily and looked up at his commanding officer, strongly wishing he hadn't let himself fall asleep in the car – if he hadn't, Treize would never have known he was dreaming and there would be no need for this, a conversation he did not want to have. "I'm fine," he insisted, taking more sips from his water.

The general shook his head, beginning to pace. "Do you really expect me to believe that?" He sat down on the opposite couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Zechs…"

The pilot interrupted. "Yes, I expect you to believe that!" he snapped. "I expect you to trust me and to treat me as an adult, not as a child you have to care for. I don't want to talk about this."

"Perhaps you don't, but has it occurred to you that you might need to?"

"I don't."

The general looked at his friend, wondering how to press his point home. The younger man was slumped into the corner of the couch, still pale, still trembling. Even the anger building in his gaze hadn't swept the stunned look from his eyes. Treize was sure that if he touched him, he'd find his skin still clammy, and his pulse racing. He got to his feet, made his way across the room and knelt at the side of the sofa. "Zechs, lie down."

"What?"

"Lie down." Reaching out, he took the water from the pilot's hands, set it on the table, and then turned back to catch his shoulders in his hands and press him into lying full length.

"What are you doing?" Zechs asked, as Treize threw the blanket from the back of the sofa over him.

"Trying to make sure we don't need to find a doctor. Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," Zechs answered automatically, then scowled. "A doctor?" he asked, puzzled.

Treize nodded, standing up as he did so. "This is why I think you need more help than you'll admit to. Should a simple nightmare be able to put a trained and experienced soldier into shock?"

"Of course not… but I'm hardly…"

"Stop arguing with me. I'm certainly no medic, but I know these symptoms when I see them." Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the couch. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

The younger officer blinked slowly, wondering at the level of distress in his friend's expression and the worry in his voice. "Of course I will…"

"How often do your nightmares leave you feeling the way you do now?" Treize asked quietly.

There was silence for almost a minute before Zechs replied, "Almost always. It's not… It's not this bad, usually. I'd never thrown up afterwards till this morning, and I've never even come close to passing out before, but…"

"But?"

"But, I never feel well, and it takes me a while to recover every time. It's better if I just get up and do something else, and don't think about it."

Treize looked away. "I thought I heard something, early on." He thought for a moment, then looked back, and pressed two fingers to his friend's throat, feeling for the pulse in the major artery lying beneath the delicate skin. "I don't doubt that being hung-over has made the reaction more severe," he commented, "and it's probably that, rather than anything else, that made you nauseous, but surely you've realised that something isn't right?"

Zechs shrugged, swallowing against the pressure of his commander's hand. "Maybe, but there's nothing I can do about it. I told you, I'll feel better if I do something to distract myself."

The beat under his fingers was slowing, the skin warming. Treize took his hand away and sat back to look at his friend, noting that his complexion had regained its customary faint-gold tanned cast. "What type of thing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Zechs shrugged. "Read, catch up on paperwork, spend time in the gym – anything to distract myself."

"Ah." Treize tilted his head to one side and smiled. "Anything in particular you'd care to do now?"

Zechs regarded him steadily for a moment, then chose to ignore the slightly suggestive nature of the question and answer literally. "Well, I can't do my paperwork, and I don't think you'd let me try anything too active. I could read, but I don't have the book I was in the middle of with me… I don't know."

"I do – give me a minute." The older man got to his feet and crossed the room, passing behind the sofa so that Zechs couldn't see him.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding something for us to do."

There was a rustling sound, and then the general made his way back to his seat on the edge of the sofa and showed the younger man what he was holding. "Care to play cards?" he asked.

Zechs smiled at him.


	13. Chapter 13

_Warning: Shameless Lemon ahead!!_

**Chapter Thirteen**

Lady Une and Noin had, by mutual consent, headed away from the resort in completely the opposite direction from the two men, avoiding the little hamlet and the other tourist attractions in the region for the lure of the nearest major town. For the first hour or so of their drive, Noin had divided her attention between the road she was steering the car down and the awkward conversation she and the older woman were making, wondering where the sudden difficulty had come from. She wouldn't have described the Lady as a close friend, but she had thought that they had developed some sort of connection over the past two or three months.

Instead, this morning, there was a tension between them – she could almost sense the Lady checking herself before she allowed herself to respond too willingly. Trying to break through, she found herself telling the other woman, with suitable edits, some of the things Zechs had said in his drunken babble the night before.

For a time, she thought it was going to work. Une seemed to relax, smiling and even laughing once or twice at some of the more outrageous statements – particularly Zechs's assertion that Treize should be the Queen of their new Kingdom – but then she told Une about the hot chocolate trick and the smiles and the laughter and the sense of communication between the two of them vanished instantly – in favour of an even icier atmosphere than before.

Noin had recoiled a little, and frowned.

For the tenth time in an hour, she found herself watching her companion covertly as they meandered through one of the shops in the town, analysing her behaviour for an answer. The pattern of thaw and re-freeze had been repeated all afternoon. Given the right line of conversation, Une could be prodded into being a pleasant, urbane companion – one that Noin enjoyed spending time with – but the slightest mention of her classmate brought scowling silence and a half hour of monosyllabic responses, and she didn't know why. She knew Une had no particular fondness for the blond, but she hadn't thought things were this bad.

As something she said triggered another bout of brooding, Noin rolled her eyes and tried to work out what had been the provoking factor.

Replaying her last sentence, and then all the others that had preceded a new ice age, Noin began to see a pattern. It wasn't mention of the pilot that was causing the problem – it was any mention of Zechs and Treize together, from the fact the elder man knew how to put his friend to sleep, to the ideas the general had given Noin for the younger man's birthday presents.

Noin shot a horrified look at the other woman's slender back – was it possible Une knew that the two men were more than friends?

It was possible, all right. Treize and Zechs weren't nearly as careful as they thought they were. To the right eyes, almost every interaction gave them away, and Noin knew that if she saw that, the Lady couldn't have missed it. The question now was – did Une actually _know_ they were lovers, or did she merely have her suspicions. If it were the latter, then it might be possible to deflect her. If it were the former, the two men could be in very serious trouble. Either way, Noin herself could well be the only thing standing between her friend and her commander, and disaster.

It was hard, Noin realised, not to feel sorry for Une. Much like herself, the older woman was completely in love with a man who wasn't in love with her. Unlike herself, Une was stuck with working side by side with that man, day in and day out all year round, tasked with never letting her feelings compromise their professional relationship. Where Noin had been friends with Zechs for quite some time before she had fallen for him, and so had possessed another relationship to fall back on for her interactions with him, Une – so far as she was aware – hadn't known Treize before becoming his aide, and so didn't have that advantage. Worse, where Zechs had never given Noin the slightest reason to believe he cared for her in a way other than as a friend, Treize was an uncompromising flirt, silver-tongued and charming.

For a few brief seconds, Noin found herself furious with her commanding officer for his treatment of his aide. He must know how Une felt about him, yet his attitude towards her sometimes was not that of the Gentleman he was supposed to be. He was a politician as much as he was a soldier, raised in board-rooms and ball-rooms to be the quintessential nobleman, and half of everything he said was layered with innuendo and with subtle promises he had no intention of keeping.

She found herself wondering suddenly if the man was even attracted to women, biting her lip as she recognized that she might have yet another reason why she was luckier than the Lady. As she had concluded during their argument the week before, Zechs had fallen in love with the one person who had been everything to him for most of his life. She doubted the question of gender had ever occurred to him, and didn't think it ever would. Should something happen to separate him from Treize, she was, she knew, the most likely replacement, simply because she was the only other person he trusted enough.

Her commanding officer, though, could well be another subject altogether.

Without question, she was sure that the casual observer would have said Une had no hope – the man was simply too damned elegant to be straight – but she, herself, wasn't certain. Rumour wasn't much help in coming to a conclusion. She had heard all the same stories every member of the Specials had heard – that he had a new partner every night, that he was under a vow of celibacy, that he was sleeping with Une, with Zechs, with Field-Marshall Noventa and that was how he'd got his job – but they didn't prove a thing; nobody had ever been able to back up their claims about him. As far as conclusive proof went, the man might as well be a eunuch – he had taken discretion to the point where any affairs he might have had, simply hadn't happened.

His behaviour didn't prove anything either. Three weeks ago, at his Christmas Ball, she would have been willing to swear that he was straight– gay men didn't partner on the dance floor like he did – but then, three weeks ago, before she had seen him with Zechs, she would have been willing to make bets with Une about how long she would have to wait before he asked her to marry him. That was the way she had thought things were headed, especially after he gave Une his mother's necklace.

Noin's thoughts were interrupted by Une coming over and asking her opinion on a dress she had found, and, for that moment at least, she put aside her wondering.

**********************

Treize ducked as Zechs threw his hand of cards at his head, laughing at the younger man's disgruntled expression.

As good as his word, it had taken less than half an hour away from the topic of the Sanc Kingdom to restore Zechs to his customary self. The rest of the afternoon had been passed indulging in various games with the cards neither of them had played for years and, most of the time, could only half-remember the rules to. As stupid as some of the substitutes had been, it made a pleasant and relaxing change from chess.

"I'll take that as your decision to fold, shall I?" Treize asked, scooping the cards up from where they had fallen.

"You might as well," Zechs agreed, stretching lazily.

The general slid the cards back into their packet and watched as the pilot shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes.

"How much longer do you think Une and Noin are going to be?" the blond asked. "I'm hungry, and I suspect you'll only point out that it would be bad manners if I suggest eating without them."

"I would, yes. Feeling better?"

"Finally. I'm never letting you do that to me again."

Treize smiled. "I wouldn't advocate that you make a habit of drinking like that on a regular basis, but it is something everyone is obligated to try at least once. Besides, a decent tolerance becomes essential with increasing rank – all the social functions and the paperwork, you know."

"I know – you've complained often enough!"

The smile turned into a laugh. "There really are times I should court martial you for insubordination."

"Probably."

"Well, at least you admit to it. That's something. Where do you want to eat then? Even if Une and Noin aren't back yet, we can organise that much."

"I'll leave that to you." He stretched again, and threw off the blanket Treize had thrown over him. "Would you mind if I left you alone for ten minutes? If we're going out anywhere, I need to wash my hair."

"Why should I mind?" Treize asked. "Shall I come and talk to you?"

"If you want to."

Treize stood up as the pilot did and followed him up the stairs.

Heading into the bathroom, he turned the water on for Zechs, and then went to find his own toiletries. Steam rose from the hot water of the shower as the younger man stepped under it, sighing in pleasure as the spray hit his skin.

Treize chuckled as he turned the sink tap on and dug out his shaving kit. "You're worse than a cat," he commented as he finished running hot water into the sink and setting his things out on the side.

"Sorry?"

"I said, you're worse than a cat – I've never known anyone who fussed over their hair the way you do yours."

"Dorothy, possibly. Long hair takes work. Besides, you can't say anything to me about fussing over my appearance. I don't think I've ever seen you look less than immaculate."

"It happens."

The shower turned off, and a moment later, Zechs spoke again from just behind the elder man. "When?"

The general turned around, his straight-blade razor in his hand. "Now, really," he teased, voice soft. "Can't you answer that for yourself?"

There was blank incomprehension for a breath or two, and then cool eyes sparked and began to glow, as though someone had lit a match behind them. "Possibly."

A split-ended eyebrow lifted. "Only possibly?"

"You might remind me…"

Treize smiled, and reached out with his free hand to pull the other man to him. Tapered fingers wound into wet strands of hair as the pilot slid his arms around his commander's trim waist. Their mouths met and lingered, light and careful at first, and then Treize murmured some meaningless noise or other, and the kiss deepened as his fingers tightened and his body leaned into the younger man's.

Treize broke it a few moments later, tilting his upper body back just far enough that he could look at his friend properly, a small rueful smile playing around his mouth. "Why can't you be older?" he asked.

Zechs returned his look, confusion setting two small lines into the skin between his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" The older man stroked the back of his companion's neck with the pad of his thumb. "So I could do what I actually want to now."

The pilot's mouth quirked at one corner. "Which is what?"

Treize's breath was warm against Zechs's throat as he kissed the smooth skin and then bit down lightly, working a neat path from collarbone to jaw. "Take you back into the bedroom and fuck you…," the general murmured, directly into his ear.

The blond startled, shivering for a second as the unaccustomed profanity, and its meaning, sank in – since when did Treize speak like that? And, why had the thought that he might mean exactly what he'd said inspired such a wash of fierce wanting? "Why don't you?" he asked, not thinking.

The elder officer went still. "Zechs…" He shook his head. "Have a little patience."

Zechs smiled, drawing his commander closer to him. "I somehow doubt that…," he shot a glance through the open bathroom door at the clock resting on the windowsill, "…six hours, give or take, is going to matter to anyone."

Treize shook his head again. "By that reasoning, I doubt the last three months would have mattered either. It's a technicality, I know, but it's one that could be used against us both. Is it worth the risk? Especially having lasted this long?" He wound his fingers a little tighter into the strands he held. "We've managed with other things so far…"

For a moment the pilot didn't reply, then he turned his head and looked down, staring at the floor. "I know," he murmured. "Can I help with that?" he asked, changing the subject.

"With what?" Treize quizzed, and was surprised when Zechs freed one arm from around his waist, ran teasing fingers down the inside of his forearm and took his razor from where it had been hanging from his hand.

"This – can I help?" the younger man asked again, taking a step back and away from his commander.

Treize raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "I don't know why you'd want to," he admitted. "Do you know how?"

"I've seen you do it often enough."

The general hesitated, and then, by way of consent, handed the blond the soap and towel he had laid out, and rested the small of his back against the edge of the sink unit. "I haven't had anyone else do this for me in quite some time," he said, as the pilot applied a layer of soap and set the razor against his top lip.

"You don't have to let me, but if you are going to, could you be quiet? I don't want to cut you."

Treize bit off his chuckle, and forced his body into complete stillness. It was harder than he had thought it would be. Though he had wondered why Zechs would want to do this for him, now that he was, there was something curiously intimate about it – both in letting the younger man involve himself in a part of his personal grooming routine, and in trusting him with so sharp a blade so near to him. Already partially aroused, Treize found himself fighting not to move as his body responded. The pilot used two fingers from his free hand to tilt his head back and put the razor to his throat just above the pulse point, and the older man drew a ragged breath and set his hands on the counter behind him for balance.

"Are you alright?" Zechs asked, hand stilling as he registered this reaction. "I haven't cut you, have I?"

"No. I'm fine – carry on."

"Are you sure…?"

"Perfectly."

Treize sounded more than a little breathless, the pilot noted, and he ran an assessing eye over him, observing that his grip on the counter was hard enough that his fingertips were whitened by the pressure. Frowning at this contradiction of his commander's reassurances, Zechs finished his self-assigned task and set the razor down in favour of the towel. Gentle pats with the soft fabric removed the excess soap, revealing newly smoothed skin and giving away the fact that the elder man was shivering.

The pilot laid the towel back on the counter and scowled. "You didn't have to let me finish, you know," he muttered. "If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me to stop."

"I didn't want you to stop," Treize replied, and his voice was still ragged, still breathless despite the fact that he was almost panting in the humid air of the bathroom. He opened his eyes to look at his friend, and the deep cerulean hue was glittering with excitement.

Zechs stared, feeling the force of that desire jump across the space between them, catch onto the fading need in his own body, and fan it. Not at all sure of where the nerve was coming from, he took the two paces that closed the gap between himself and his lover and used his body weight to pin the elder man back against the counter he was still leaning on. Fingers strengthened by hundreds of hours gripping mobile suit controls fanned along the sharp line of Treize's jaw and held him still as the blond kissed him, pushing past the momentary shocked resistance until the general caught back a moan and began to respond in kind.

Treize fought to keep his mind from drowning under the unexpected onslaught. He had no idea what had prompted Zechs to turn so aggressive, but he wasn't about to protest too strenuously. In the month that had passed since Christmas – when Treize considered their relationship had truly begun – Zechs had instigated things between them so infrequently that the general could number them on the fingers of one hand. It was expected – his friend was younger and inexperienced, accustomed very early in his life to following Treize's lead, and in more recent years, to obeying the commands of his superior officer. With gentle prompting, he was an equal participant in their encounters, but that didn't mean that Treize wished such a pattern to continue. There were few people in the world that would, or could, say no to him; his childhood friend was one of them, and it was that strength of personality the elder man was counting on to make theirs a relationship of equals. If he'd wanted shrinking submission, he could have bought it easily enough.

That and it was nice not to be the one giving the orders occasionally.

There was pure fire in Zechs's kiss, a force that wasn't about to yield to anything, and so the general didn't try to take control. His hands left the edge of the counter and locked around the younger man's trim body.

The pilot broke their kiss and laughed softly. "This is new…."

"Is it?" Treize asked, utterly uninterested in talking.

"Certainly. You've never behaved like this before." Zechs grinned suddenly, raising an eyebrow. "But then, I've never thought to hold a lethally sharp knife to your throat before. You weren't joking last week when you said you liked power games, were you?"

The general shook his head, the movement exaggerated in comparison to his usual precise grace and a good indicator of the state of the rest of his composure. "Do you mind?" he demanded, his fingers biting into the bare skin of the blonde's shoulders as he tried to pull them closer together.

Zechs laughed again, running one hand in a soothing stroke along the line of his commander's spine and hooking it under the hem of his jumper when he reached it. "Mind? No. I'll confess to a degree of curiosity… You really liked my having that knife, didn't you?"

"Yes…." Treize took the hem of his jumper from the younger man's hands and finished the job he was stalling over, pulling it over his head and dropping it onto the floor at their feet. His trousers met a similar fate and the brush of skin against skin made him gasp. He let his head drop forward until his face was hidden in the crook of the other man's shoulder.

"Could I have made you come just with that?" Zechs asked him, teeth grazing the skin of his throat. "If I'd kept it up?"

"I don't know," Treize hissed. "Possibly." His perfectly kept nails were scratching lightly at Zechs's skin. "Zechs!" he pleaded.

"Shh." Gracefully, the blond went to his knees on the cool floor of the bathroom, ignoring his own body's demands in favour of answering his friend's. He let his hands trace a path down his lover's body until they were gripping his hips, and felt powerful fingers wind into his hair with a strength born from frustration. He laughed quietly as he leaned forward to blow his breath over the length of the other man's arousal and the general jumped.

"Don't tease," Treize demanded, staring down at the younger man. Cool blue eyes rolled up to meet his gaze and held it for a moment or two, as their owner's lips quirked in a grin. Suddenly everything Treize had been trying to explain to him about the balance of control in such a situation was clear – though it appeared Zechs was the one being submissive, he had all the power. He made a note to himself to bring it up with his lover later, and breathed out again, liking the way the older man started.

The expression on the general's face was vaguely surprised as he combed his hands through the heavy silkiness of Zechs's hair, pulling a strand over the pilot's shoulder and wrapping it around one finger. "Your hair has the most wonderful texture," he mused, a subtle form of revenge for the younger man's teasing. He brushed the ends against his flat stomach and added, "I do believe I could find uses for it…."

The pilot's smile took on a degree of shock. "Could you?" he asked, tone cool, but the colour that rose under his skin told his commander that the idea wasn't entirely unappealing.

Whatever answer Treize was going to make was lost when his breath left him in a rush as the blond leaned forward and ran his tongue over the tip of his erection.

Zechs pulled away a little as the older man jumped, then moved back and took him fully into his mouth, forcing himself to remember and apply everything he had been taught. He had damn near choked himself with his first attempt at this, trying to wake his friend in the same manner as he himself had been knocked out the night before. Treize had held him till he stopped coughing, fetched him a glass of water – laughing at him the entire time – and then had laid back and talked him through it, his self-control holding until the very last moments.

There was nothing of that self-control visible today.

"Jesus, Gott, Milliardo!" Treize gasped. "I need…"

The younger man smiled at the incoherency he had inspired in his lover, understanding what he had been trying to say and lifted his hands away, freeing the older man to move as he needed to. As Treize had instructed him, he relaxed the muscles in his throat, breathing in sequence with the suddenly sharp movements of that hardened flesh over his tongue.

It didn't take long.

"Oh… Christ! Milliardo…!" Treize's broken moan was his warning, and Zechs felt sudden bitterness pour into his mouth as the older man spilled himself, the warm rush of fluid expected but still surprising. He swallowed repeatedly, quickly enough that the taste didn't really register, and stroked with his tongue, keeping up a gentle sucking until the general tugged his at hair in an attempt to get him to stop.

The blond sank back onto his heels for a moment, drew the back of one hand across his mouth, and then got to his feet.

The general was resting against the counter, though Zechs happened to think that 'sprawled' would have been a better description, head bowed and skin flushed; his hair, sweat-dampened, was falling out of its pristine styling.

He glanced up and smiled. "As promised – I look somewhat less than immaculate…"

The pilot laughed, and drew the other man to him. "You do, but I like it."

"Ah, good."

They stood in silence for a moment, then Treize looked at his friend. "Give me a minute, Milliardo, and I'll return the favour."

"It doesn't matter," Zechs murmured, feeling oddly satisfied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Treize smiled at him and kissed him.

The front door slammed shut and they jumped apart out of habit, before realising how ridiculous a response that was and laughing.

"Lady Une and Lucrezia. One of us should dress and see to them."

Zechs nodded. "I'll go. You get in the shower."


	14. Chapter 14

Treize woke the following morning to a bed that, once again, had only him in it, and to cooling sheets where the other man should have been. There were two possible reasons for that being the case: That Treize had slept in later than he should have and the pilot had simply gotten up at his usual time, or that – and a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told him this was more likely the case – the younger man had experienced another nightmare and had abandoned sleep for the night.

It wasn't the start Treize had been hoping this day would get off to, but he couldn't bring himself to even pretend he was surprised. Sighing quietly, he slid from the warmth of the bed and readied himself for the day.

*****************************

Noin's expressive amethyst eyes caught his gaze as soon as his feet touched the bottom step, the look in them one of equal parts relief and near-panic, and served as his warning that he had been right about Zechs's reasons for leaving before his commander woke. He gestured her to come to his side so they could talk quietly, and cast the open doorway to the dining room a puzzled look.

"Lucrezia?" he asked, allowing his tone of voice to express all of the half a dozen questions running through his mind.

"I was about to come and wake you, sir. There's something wrong with…"

"Zechs – yes. I know. Tell me what's happening."

"I don't really know. I came downstairs this morning, and he was standing by the window, staring outside. He… wouldn't talk to me. It's almost as though he didn't know I was there."

Treize raised an eyebrow, turning his head to look quickly at the window and confirm that his friend wasn't still there. "And?"

"Une dragged him into the dining room and shoved coffee at him, but he's not drinking it and he isn't speaking to anyone." She caught her breath. "He's… frightening me, sir. I've never seen him like this!"

Treize smiled at her gently. "I have. He'll be fine in a little while, Lucrezia. Why don't you go and get his birthday present?"

He hadn't thought it would be that easy to get rid of her, and she didn't disappoint him. "I will, sir, but… what's wrong with him?"

He allowed the smile to take on the bitter edge it wanted to, and touched her on the shoulder lightly as he stepped past her. "The date, my dear." He could feel her eyes fixed on his spine as he crossed the room and paused in the doorway to the dining room, taking in all the clues he could and steeling himself.

Zechs was sitting with his back to the door, but the angle was oblique enough that the general could see the coffee cup that he was holding in shaking hands, the dead pallor of his skin and the blank look in the eyes that were fixed on some point in space. Lady Une was in the chair opposite the pilot, her own cup clearly being ignored as she watched her companion closely, a startling degree of concern in her soft brown eyes. Treize would have had to be blind to have missed the tension between his aide and his lover, but he wasn't surprised to see her there. The woman she was underneath the so-efficient soldier would no more leave her worst enemy to suffer if she could avoid it, than her closest friend.

His movement as he took his first step into the room itself caught her attention and she came to her feet, meeting him a few paces from the table.

"Did Noin wake you?" she asked.

"She didn't have to – I met her at the bottom of the stairs. Has he actually drunk any of that coffee?"

She shook her head. "Not a drop. It's taken me all my time to get him to sit down in here before he gave himself pneumonia. You might have more luck," she added, shrugging.

"I imagine I will," he agreed. He pulled his eyes from the still figure of his friend and looked down at his aide, smiling at her. "Thank you, Lady."

"You're welcome, sir," she replied quietly. She dropped her gaze suddenly. "Does he always react this way?"

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Her head lifted again, and he could read the answer to the question he hadn't asked in her eyes. She knew more, far more, than she would ever admit to knowing.

"To his… birthday?"

Treize shook his head. "Not for quite a few years, but things have been… difficult recently. He'll be fine in a little while, I'm sure."

"So am I."

They smiled at each other, and Treize was once again caught by the idea that this woman would have made him an excellent wife, in other circumstances. With less than half the information Noin had, she had put the truth together, and acted on it perfectly. "Thank you, Une," he murmured, letting her read the weight of his feelings in his eyes before letting her pass him. A moment later, he heard her voice and Noin's blend as they began to talk and he focused his attention back on the younger man in front of him.

Quietly, he took the chair that Une had left and ran his eyes over his friend properly.

Keeping his voice low, he tried to draw some attention from the pilot. "Zechs?" he called.

There was no response, and he repeated himself several times before switching tactics. "Milliardo, talk to me."

Something flickered in the eyes locked onto the invisible horizon.

"Milliardo, you need to talk to me."

Wire-tight tension suddenly drained from the pilot's body, and only Treize's fast reactions kept the coffee cup from falling to the floor and shattering, spilling its contents everywhere. "That's better. Look at me, Milliardo."

The husky-pale gaze locked onto his own, and the general set the mug aside on the table, reached out and caught the younger man's hands within his own, pressing down hard.

"Treize?"

"Good morning, my friend. Are you back with us, now?"

Zechs shook his head, blinking at his surroundings. "I…" He hesitated. "I think so."

"Good." Treize let the other man's hands go and sat back, raising an eyebrow. "I'd ask what just happened, but I know. Do I assume yesterday's conversation about your dreams also applies to this? I haven't known you react like this since you were eight."

Zechs flushed hotly, and Treize had to wait in silnec for almost a full five minutes before the younger man nodded his agreement.

When Zechs did respond, Treize sighed. "You'll need to explain to Noin what just happened – she's worried about you," he said.

"I will."

Treize passed back the coffee cup he had caught and watched whilst the pilot sipped at the cooling liquid, wincing at the bitter taste. "One more question, my friend, before I let this go completely."

"Go on."

"You said the nightmares have been back for some time now – have you lost awareness like this other than this morning?"

The general had asked his question in the same easy, neutral tone he'd employed since he sat down, but the speed at which Zechs brought his head up from staring into his mug, and the hard edge to his gaze, warned the older man that he was completely aware of the implications.

"Not since I was a child," Zechs answered, and his eyes were clear of any attempt to deceive.

Treize let the subtle tension in his muscles fade away as he smiled warmly. "Excellent. I need you as a pilot, my friend, but I would have had to ground you if…"

Zechs returned his smile, suddenly looking like his normal self rather than the pale-edged, slightly withdrawn ghost he'd been. "Treize," he murmured, and the single word was enough to convey his understanding that the general couldn't risk having an officer on active duty who could lose his grip on the world around him in the middle of a battle.

One distinctive eyebrow rose again, and then the older man nodded to himself and stood up. "Now," he began. "I am, both militarily and socially, the senior in rank here so I am declaring that none of this ever happened, and you are going to agree Milliardo."

Deep-set eyes met lighter ones as the younger man caught a sudden laugh in his throat. "I'll agree, but…" There was a hint of mischief in his voice. "…technically, if you're insisting on calling me Milliardo, and not Zechs, then, socially speaking, _I _outrank _you_!"

Surprise flashed over the older man's finely drawn features, and Zechs wasn't sure if it had been caused by the truth of his words, or by the nature of how he'd said them, or by a combination of both. Most likely the latter, he decided, as Treize seemed to still in place for a moment before clearly changing whatever he had been about to do.

Quietly, the general stood and looked at him for a minute, and then he leaned over and kissed him, hard and fleeting, before turning on his heels and heading for the door. "Go into the lounge," he instructed as he moved. "I'll join you in a moment."

Zechs watched him go, puzzled, feeling his lips sting from the kiss, and then shrugged to himself and got to his feet to obey.

**************************

Zechs entered the lounge to find two pairs of eyes watching him, one brown – a trace of concern hidden behind cool composure – and one violet. There was outright worry, a hint of panic, in that set of eyes and the pilot acknowledged to himself that his behaviour might have been just cause. He paused in his crossing of the room to Noin's side only long enough to grant Lady Une a nod of thanks for her earlier help, and to see her return it with a near smile as she stood to leave him alone with the younger woman.

The amethyst gaze, rendered crystalline by a film of unshed tears, locked onto his face as he came to stand next to her by the window she had found him staring out of an hour before. She opened her mouth to speak, doubtless to demand answers for what had happened, and he stopped her mid-word by slipping one arm around her shoulder and drawing her to him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and felt her breathing hitch with her surprise. "I never intended to do that to you."

"Zechs…" Her arms slid round his waist and gripped as she leaned forward enough to press her face into his jumper. For a moment, he thought she was crying, and he bit his lip as he tried frantically to think of something to calm her, but then she leaned back and he saw that she was dry eyed. "What _was _that?" she continued.

Zechs glanced away, over her head. "Memories, Noin. Memories of Sanc, of what happened to her, and to my family. They aren't… pleasant."

"The Alliance attack?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Oh, Zechs…"

"I'm alright now, I promise." He tightened his hold on her as he spoke, and felt her respond in kind and was grateful for it. She was warm and soft in his arms, a comforting barrier against any further onslaught of his past.

Noin, though being held the way she was delighted her, wondered what had prompted it. Shouldn't Zechs be clinging to Treize if he felt the need for physical reassurance? "Zechs – I don't understand…."

He shook his head with a sad smile. "I was… very young when Sanc fell. Just six years old… The attack itself was horrible – I saw my nurse killed, my home, my toys, burn. My father was shot, my mother…" he broke off and swallowed. "You've studied it, you know what happened. The memories aren't… clear… when I'm awake. They're blurred, distanced, not quite real. The Khushrenada's doctor said it was a natural defence mechanism or some such. I was too young for my mind to cope with what I lived through." He shrugged. "He was probably right – I was just six. When I was younger I used to slip away like that – a waking dream, of sorts. I remember completely, everything, as I do in my nightmares, as though I were living through it again." He smiled at her, though it was strained around the edges. "It hasn't happened for years now, and I don't imagine it will again in the near future. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"I don't care about that!" she snapped, and then shook her head, looking immediately sad again. "Oh, Zechs, what a terrible start to your birthday."

The pilot let his classmate go and took a step or two away. "I don't mind. I don't much like my birthdays anyway."

"I know – you never have. I remember you telling me so at the Academy. You never did explain why." Noin smiled as she spoke, hoping to change the subject away from something that so obviously bothered him.

Zechs turned his head to look at her again, and his expression was nothing short of stunned. "I…"

"Lucrezia, didn't you tell Zechs that you had studied the Fall of Sanc?"

Noin turned from her friend to see her commanding officer standing in the doorframe looking back at her. "Yes, sir… but I don't…"

Treize stepped into the room, making his way across it until he could touch the younger man. As he passed her, he paused to murmur. "What date did the Alliance attack Sanc?"

Noin stared after him, thinking furiously, watching as he offered the blond a smile.

"Happy Birthday, my love – and don't tell me you hate your birthday. I know you do, and you have good reason." He closed the space separating them and drew the younger man into his arms, speaking quietly into his ear. "But, after twelve years, I'm determined to give you new memories for your birthday… if you'll let me, later?"

Zechs nodded, flushing as he realised what his friend meant.

Across the room, Noin went suddenly pale. "Oh, my God… I hadn't… I hadn't realised! The twenty-third of January! The Alliance attacked Sanc on…" She stopped and looked at him, eyes filling with tears when he nodded at her slowly. "Oh, no… 'just six'… it was your birthday… They destroyed Sanc on your birthday!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Warm hands came to rest suddenly on his shoulders.

Zechs glanced up from the jewel-tipped cufflinks he was fastening into his shirt to his reflection in the mirror, and answered the smile it showed Treize wearing with one of his own. The older man reached around, taking a little step to one side to help himself, and brushed his fingers over Zechs's as he took the stubborn fastener out of his hand and slid it into place, tweaking it to lie perfectly, and then twitching the stiff material of the shirt cuff. He repeated his actions with the second cufflink before reaching for the soft, silky material that would make up Zechs's cravat and fastening that equally perfectly into place. The pin that secured it came not from the box that had held, until a moment before, Zechs's cufflinks, but from a smaller box that Treize produced from somewhere, and turned out to be a match for the one tucked into the snowy folds of material around the general's own neck, save for the colour of the stone cut into the shape of a rose.

"Treize…" Zechs murmured, and had the rest of his question cut off by the first brush of his commander's lips over his own. The pilot felt a little shiver pass through him and pressed back, deepening the contact between them until he felt Treize's strong, agile hands slip from his collar to close around his body. He could feel the smoothness of the skin against his face that told him the other man had taken the trouble to shave a second time that day – without his help, this time, it seemed – and could taste the chill mint flavour of the mouthwash he knew Treize preferred.

Having allowed, in respect of the time it took to dry Zechs's curtain of hair, the younger man to shower first, Treize's own curls, not yet brushed into place, were still damp at the ends and tickled the pilot's skin as the two of them made the subtle shifts in position that kept them locked together.

As gently as he had started it, Treize pulled away from the embrace and put a little distance between their bodies. "Did you think I wasn't going to give you a birthday present?" he asked, keeping his voice soft in deference to the feeling hanging in the air between them.

Zechs gave him a smile touched with bafflement. "I had thought you'd already given me two?"

"Two?"

"The book this morning, and this weekend…"

Treize glanced away for a moment, but when he looked back his eyes were warm. "Ah. The book this morning was scarcely a suitable present, Zechs. It was simply something to give you in company and you know it."

"Do I? It's a lovely volume…"

"Of course it is, but certainly not fitting for the occasion." The general gave a soft sound of amusement. "As for this weekend, it's hardly a present to you when I did it as much for my own benefit as yours, and when Lucrezia and Lady Une are here as well."

"I wouldn't have minded."

Treize smiled. "I know you wouldn't, but I do. Besides," he continued, taking a second step away as he turned his attention to his own dress. "Lady Une's necklace bothered you. I thought you might appreciate this."

The pilot's eyes widened a fraction, and his hand moved to touch the cool metal of the pin. "What?"

"I realise that it isn't as obvious as the necklace, but I hope you like it."

Zechs frowned slightly – ostensibly, it was just a pretty, if obviously expensive, bit of jewellery; perhaps more skilfully crafted, but not really all that different than the dozen other cravat pins Zechs already owned, half of which had also been presents from the older man. Something in Treize's voice, though, and in the way he was carefully avoiding looking at his friend as he fussed over his appearance, suggested that something more was going on.

"Of course I like it – it's lovely. May I ask where you got it?"

"It was my father's." Treize glanced up long enough to flash him a brief smile in the mirror, and then he turned to go into the bathroom. "The Khushrenada men seem fated to have roses as some sort of personal heraldry it seems – the summer house in Vienna even has it in the name, Rosenau."

Zechs acknowledged the truth of that statement to himself – he did associate roses with his friend; couldn't look at the flowers without thinking of him – and he knew from his reading into his family history that the connection didn't begin with Treize. A love for the things seemed to be bred into the Khushrenada genes along with blue eyes and tactical genius.

The pilot realised suddenly that he'd nearly fallen victim to that tactical genius – had permitted his mind to wander along the thoughts it had exactly as Treize had wanted it to – and only his nickname-earning reflexes allowed him to reach out and catch his commander's arm before he could make his retreat into the other room.

Treize stopped at the touch on his sleeve, turning with a smile on his face. "Zechs?"

"Your father's?" the younger man asked softly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Don't you like it?"

"Of course I do, but…"

Treize shrugged. "I gave Lady Une my mother's necklace – I thought it was appropriate. Besides, it's a better match for your eyes than mine. I have my mother's eyes – yours are a lighter blue."

"Treize, I can't…" Zechs let his words trail off as he tried to phrase the thoughts in his head. Carefully, he used his grip on the older man's arm to pull him back until he could hold him and draw him into another kiss. "It's beautiful," he continued when the kiss ended, "And I thank you for the thought – it means a lot to me – but I can't take this from you."

Treize tilted his head. "Why not?" he asked, puzzlement setting two small lines into the skin between his eyebrows.

"I… Your father?" Zechs asked helplessly, still unable to explain what he was thinking. Though the general had tried to make light of the gift – had pointed out that he had given his mother's necklace to Lady Une, so why shouldn't he give this to Zechs? – the pilot knew full well that the two bore no relation to one another at all.

The younger man had spent years watching Treize interact with his parents, in a dozen different settings, using what he saw as a model for childhood fantasies of his life without the fall of his Kingdom. Though they weren't especially close, Treize had loved his mother as much as any boy ever did, and had drawn from her his love for music and poetry, his grace and poise – all the touches that made him the elegant, almost effeminate man that he was.

Her death almost eighteen months previously had saddened him, left him melancholy for a time – the restrained and private grieving anyone would have expected from him. Duchess Anna had died peacefully in her sleep, at the end of a progressive illness: her passing had not been unexpected, and Treize, an adult, and an Officer for almost half of his life by that point, had taken the loss in such a light, showing it most in a tendency towards quiet and introspective reflection when he and Zechs were talking alone.

The pilot scowled, remembering the few days surrounding her funeral, and Treize reached out, reacting to his expression.

"What about him, Zechs?" the general asked, and the younger man just shook his head.

In a sharp contrast to the graceful, understated way he had taken his mother's loss, the death of his father in combat in AC 187, a few months after Treize's graduation from the Academy, had devastated his friend. The bond between father and son had been particularly strong – Treize had idolised his father and used him as a model for the course of his life and his career. It had been Tristan's decision to transfer over to the newly formed Specials and place himself under the command of his cousin-by-marriage, General Catalonia, that had prompted his son's obsession with the mobile suit in the first place, and his growing reputation as an ace pilot that had caused Treize to join the military himself rather than applying for the Diplomatic core, or to one of the private schools that specialised in turning out the next generation of political leaders. Ten year old Zechs, who knew, only too well, what his fifteen year old friend was feeling, hadn't known what to do to help him until the evening after the funeral when he had found the young officer, still in full Dress uniform, standing in his father's rose garden, pale-skinned and trembling from the effort of holding onto his control all day.

Something about Zechs's hesitant touch and whispered 'I'm sorry, Treize,' had shattered his hold on himself. It had been the only time Zechs could recall seeing the older man break far enough to give way to tears.

The pin Treize was trying to give him had been one of his father's favourites; one Zechs, now that his memory had been jogged, could recall the man wearing on any number of occasions. It was true that the hue of the gemstone rose had been picked to match Tristan's eyes – like the pilot's, a much lighter blue than his son's – and it was equally true that Treize himself almost never wore it, arguing, with his usual meticulous sense of dress, that the stone was too pale to sit well against his colouring, but that didn't change the fact that it was one of the few truly personal things of his father's that Treize still owned.

The soft, sad smile that sparked first in those sapphire eyes before touching his lips, told Zechs that Treize understood completely everything that he was struggling to say.

"Milliardo, he would have wanted you to have it," Treize told him, voice still soft. "I want to give it to you. I won't wear it, it looks wonderful on you, and it's too beautiful a thing to be left in a box for the rest of my life, to be given to some nephew at some point who won't appreciate it nearly as much as you will."

The use of his real name, the tone of his lover's voice, the expression on his face told Zechs that Treize was serious about this and he conceded the argument with a simple nod and another gentle kiss.

********************************

Noin grinned at Zechs as the two men came into the restaurant of the lodge and sat down. Very rarely did she get to see her classmate in anything other than his uniform, and when she did, it was usually his Dress livery, or the very casual clothes he wore in the gym or in his rooms when he was off-duty. Until Christmas, she had seriously wondered if he even owned any other clothes – she had other male Officer friends who didn't; there were very few occasions that couldn't be covered by one variation of uniform or other, so why waste the money? – now, she realised that someone who had grown up with Treize Khushrenada as an 'older brother' simply wouldn't be allowed to have so simplistic a wardrobe, especially when they looked as good in civilian formal dress as Zechs did.

She wondered, as Treize politely began ordering wine from the waiter who had appeared, as if by magic, at their table as soon as the two men had seated themselves, if they had consciously chosen to dress as a couple or if it were something that had happened by accident. There were discrepancies, variations in the styles and the fabrics chosen, in the cut of their coats; the little details necessary to account for differences in build – though they stood at almost the same height, Zechs still showed a touch of boyish slimness that Treize lacked, regardless of the fact that he was the more slender of the two. Neither were they wearing the same colour; Treize's fair, fine skin would have looked sallow in the silvery–blue of Zechs's jacket, though it was the perfect foil for the white mane of the pilot, and even if Zechs's hair and faintly golden skin could have taken the midnight blue coat that had turned their commander's hair to fire and his complexion almost fragile, the deep colour would have overwhelmed the icy paleness of his eyes.

None of that changed the fact that the overall effect was one of unity.

In one of the moments that were becoming more and more frequent, and which were making her start to question if she needed help, Noin found herself hating her commanding officer for a split second – before she looked at her own vibrant violet dress and Une's deep indigo, and realised that, not only could the same thing be said of the two of them, but, in fact, all four of them looked as though they had compared notes before dressing.

The thought made her laugh and her sudden giggles drew the attention of all three of her dinner companions.

"Lucrezia?" Treize asked, making her name his question.

"Sorry, sir, it's nothing important."

He smiled at her for a moment longer and then turned his attention to asking what Lady Une would like for her first course.

A flash of something caught the corner of Noin's eye and she turned her head to look at her friend, searching for the source. Her gaze landed on the pin holding the snowy folds of his cravat in place, and she frowned as she wondered if Zechs had forgotten his own pin and had borrowed one of Treize's. Roses weren't something she'd ever seen in her classmate's dressing case before, but she had the feeling that the general's contained nothing but.

Zechs seemed to catch the direction of her glance and he smiled as he explained the story behind the pin.

Noin's frown set all the harder. For a man reputed to be one of the most politically skilled in history, Treize was being remarkably careless about keeping a secret that could ruin both himself and his lover. Three or four times today she had walked in on the two men sitting or standing together, including once when they had been in the middle of a kiss.

Either that or he was more of a bastard than she gave him credit for being, and was playing Zechs and Une off against one another in a game Zechs was winning, for the moment, because he wasn't going to demand legally binding promises of marriage before he hopped into bed. Just what was he playing at, to give Une his mother's necklace at Christmas and Zechs, his father's pin not a month later?

The reappearance of the waiter drove the thought from her head, and she allowed herself to trust that her friend knew what he was doing. After all, if he didn't and Treize did throw him over for Lady Une, then there was every chance that Noin's own dreams would come true.

******************************

The light from the candles at the centre of their table sparked in the depths of the liquid, turning it to the rich ruby hue that good wine of this type should be as Treize tilted the bottle to refill Zechs's glass, deftly twisting his wrist as he stopped pouring to prevent the wine from spilling over the side of the neck and staining the tablecloth.

As the general was intending him to, the pilot picked up the glass and took a slow sip, letting the rich, slightly bitter taste wash over his tongue in appreciation whilst he fought off his smile of appreciation.

He was being seduced, and he knew it – however skilfully and subtly Treize was going about it – and this wine was just one more sign of it. Whilst he loved it, it was heavier, drier and altogether more acidic in taste than he knew the other man preferred, and since Treize had done the ordering, he knew it was no mistake.

He was also aware that the wine not quite being to his taste probably wasn't a concern to the older man at the current time. Treize had drunk very little all evening – scarcely finishing the one half-glass he was pouring for himself from each bottle – but he had made a point of watching exactly what Zechs drank and had topped his glass off with enough regularity that the world had taken on a slight haze around the edges.

It was, he had realised before they had finished their first course, exactly where Treize wanted him to be – aware, and in control of himself, but relaxed and amenable.

Slowly, Zechs finished the glass of wine, and watched as Treize got to his feet to pay the bill, taking Lady Une with him when she made it clear she wanted to talk to him about something.

Noin's chuckle brought his attention back to the table, and he looked at her to see her leaning her chin on one hand and grinning at him mischievously.

"Yes?"

"You know what he's up to, don't you?" she asked, and Zechs felt himself flush slightly.

"Yes, I know. Why?"

"Just wondering if you'd spotted it. I wouldn't want you getting caught off guard!"

"Not likely," Zechs replied, his voice layered with amusement as he thought back to the week after Christmas. "If I know Treize, he'll talk through every last thing he does with me, before he does it."

Noin blinked at him, then she giggled. "He talks? He doesn't seem the type to talk in bed… I'd have expected him to be one of those that gets it all exactly as you want it, and seems to do it through telepathic communication, or something." She giggled again, and Zechs had the sudden thought that this conversation was well past the bounds of acceptable. Perhaps he was more drunk than he had thought…

"He is. He talks so he can explain things to me, so I know what's going to happen. I'm sure he'll stop once…" He trailed off, realising what he'd just said, and felt the flush deepen. He was definitely more drunk than he had thought.

He thought for a moment or two that she might have missed it, but then her eyes sharpened and she leaned forward. "Sorry?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. Did you just imply that you haven't, actually, slept with him yet? Or am I coming to the wrong conclusion?"

"Noin…"

"Oh, my God…"

They stared across the table at each other.

"I thought… I thought you'd been a couple since October?" Noin asked quietly.

"We have."

"But…"

Zechs looked away, wanting, and not wanting to talk to her about this. "We had two days before I had to leave for L2. I got back on Christmas Eve. I've been in three different countries since then; Treize has been in five. We simply haven't had the time…"

"You had almost a week after Christmas."

"We did." He sighed. "There's such a thing as Age of Consent. I know it gets ignored by most people, but Treize is older than me…and… what?" he demanded, when she began to laugh at him.

"I'm sorry! It's just… that's so sweet!"

"What?"

Noin glanced over his shoulder, saw that her commander was returning to the table and got to her feet. Making her way round the table she stood at his side and smiled down at him for a moment. "I'll keep Une busy till you're ready to get up in the morning." She dared to lean down and drop a quick kiss on the top of his head. "Have fun tonight," she instructed, and saw him flush a fantastic shade of scarlet before turning away to head Une off and coax her into accompanying Noin to the restroom.

Treize watched her leaving from a few paces away, lip-reading what she said to the younger man and smiling to himself.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, resting his hands on the blonde's shoulders.

Zechs tilted his head back to look at him for a second, and then nodded and stood up.

Treize smiled at him gently, and let his hand rest against the base of his spine as he guided the pilot from the restaurant.

As they stepped from the main lodge into the chilly night air, the hand resting against Zechs's spine shifted, brushing the ends of his hair, as Treize slipped his arm round the pilot's waist and drew them together as they walked.

"How are you feeling?" Treize asked quietly and the breath behind the words clouded in the chill air.

Zechs turned his head to look at the other man and smiled. "That rather depends how you mean that question. If you meant – how do I feel generally…?" He stopped as Treize lifted gloved fingers and rested them across Zechs's mouth.

"You know what I intend to happen tonight?" Treize asked, and waited for the pilot to nod his agreement before continuing. "How do you feel about it?"

The younger man dropped his gaze to the path beneath their feet, watching in apparent fascination as they left almost matching footprints in the powdery snow. "How am I supposed to feel?" he asked. "Somewhat… apprehensive, I suppose. I don't…"

Again, Treize stopped him in mid-sentence. "I would expect you to be nervous. Zechs…" He stopped walking abruptly, and turned so that they were looking at each other without letting the pilot go. The unexpected change threw the younger man off balance, making him catch at Treize's shoulders to keep from falling, and the general smiled at him as he used his free hand to steady the pilot. "Zechs, it occurred to me last night that we've both been so busy concentrating on the fact that we couldn't do this before your birthday, that I've completely neglected to ask you whether you want to do it at all. It's an unforgivable assumption for me to have made. Simply because you now can, doesn't mean that you have to, or even that you want to."

"I should have thought that was obvious." Zechs replied, frowning. "I've given you more than enough indication."

Treize nodded immediately, but his expression didn't change. "Perhaps," he agreed, "but still, I shouldn't presume. If you don't feel ready, I'd rather you say so now, before we begin."

Zechs smiled. "Treize, its fine. I want this."

He allowed his voice to trail off, and leaned forward, catching one of his hands into the older man's soft hair as he kissed him lightly. Treize murmured softly and used his hold on the pilot's slim waist to draw them together and deepen the kiss.

Zechs broke it after a moment had passed, opening his eyes to meet the other man's questioning gaze.

"Are you certain?" Treize pressed.

"Absolutely."

Something caught in the back of the general's eyes and, suddenly, there was a confidence in his gaze that hadn't been there before – a surety and a hint of the darkness that had been explained the week before.

Zechs swallowed and Treize smiled at him, slowly. "Come on – it's cold out here," he murmured.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Treize drew Zechs into the room they had been sharing with a gentle tug on the hand he was holding, smiling at the faint dampness in the skin under his own that betrayed the state of the younger man's nerves.

There were other signs, too, of the 'apprehension' Zechs had admitted he felt. The look in the slightly too wide blue eyes, the too-fast respiration rate that hadn't been caused by the climb up the stairs. Treize had seen Zechs pilot a mobile suit into the middle of a battlefield with more composure than he was showing at the moment. In other circumstances it might have been amusing, but not now.

That edge of fear had the capacity to become Treize's worst enemy in what was to come, and could potentially prevent them from going through with their plans altogether. He knew Zechs was aware of the mechanics of the thing, courtesy of a conversation during their Christmas break – late at night and aided by several bottles of wine – that had resulted in a lot of laughter and the odd bit of experimentation but theoretical knowledge was, in this case, no substitute for practical experience.

He knew, from his own experiences, that it didn't need to hurt, that it could feel wonderful, but if he couldn't break the younger man of his worry and get him to relax, then it would simply be painful and not at all the pleasure the general wanted it to be.

Fortunately, he'd been expecting something like this from his companion and had planned for it. Treize let go of Zechs's hand and turned to face him with a smile. "Wait here for a moment, please. I won't be long."

Zechs nodded, and Treize made his way into the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he set the plug into the bath and turned the hot water on, letting it fill whilst he pulled clean towels from the cabinet under the sink and retrieved a few small items from his shaving kit that he set on the little shelf above the bath. Dimming the lights, he left the water to cool and went back into the bedroom.

The pilot was standing exactly where Treize had left him.

Moving slowly, the general took the younger man into his arms and held him, stroking one hand along the length of his spine, until he felt some of the tension fade away. "I need you to trust me now, enough to do what I tell you to do without questioning me," he murmured quietly. "Just as I'm trusting you to tell me if something doesn't feel right. I can't keep asking you if you're alright, and I can't explain everything I do. We'll be here all night if we try it that way. Can you do that?"

Zechs nodded. "Yes."

"Good."

Treize let go of the pilot and turned for a small cabinet in the corner of the room. A few swift movements left him holding a glass of something richly amber coloured and he brought it back with him, holding it loosely in one hand, stopping a few paces away from the other man.

Zechs looked awkward, a far cry from his usual self-possessed poise and it brought a smile to Treize's face. He took a small sip from the glass, and then looked at the pilot. "Strip for me," he directed.

Despite the fact that they'd seen each other without clothes dozens of times in the past few months – hadn't been particularly self-conscious around each other even before that, a legacy of their shared childhood and their years in the military – Zechs flushed, but he obeyed, peeling out of his formal clothing with practiced speed. Treize allowed himself to watch and enjoy for a moment or two before he closed the space between them and leaned forward to brush his mouth against the pilot's.

He pulled away just as Zechs reached for him and pressed the glass into the blonde's hand. "I've run a bath for you. Take this with you and go and get in it. I want you to drink that slowly and try to relax. I'll join you in a minute or two."

He smiled at Zechs's decisive nod and turned so he could gaze at the younger man as he left the room.

************************************

Zechs let the water of the bath enfold his body, relishing the feel of the almost-too-hot liquid. Treize had addicted him to baths back in October but it wasn't often he had the time for more than a quick shower.

It was rarer still that he got to lounge in a bath run the way he'd learned he liked them best – with water so hot, so close to scalding, that it felt cold against his skin as he moved and caused convulsive shivers on first touch that shook all his nerves and set them glowing.

He did, and did not, know what the older man was trying to accomplish by insisting he take this bath. He supposed that it, like the bourbon in his hand, was intended to help him relax and, to some extent, he could acknowledge that it was working. The heat and the gentle support of the water, in combination with the effect of the alcohol, were conspiring to rob his muscles of the tightness nerves had created, leaving him languid, almost drowsy, and feeling only the delicious, slow-building tension Treize had woven between them all day.

At the same time, he wondered why Treize had chosen a bath for that purpose. Though it was lovely at the moment, it would prove a shock to step back into the comparatively cold air and a distraction to dry themselves off again.

The door slid open, throwing a shaft of dim light over the surface of the water, making the droplets he splashed into the air as he moved to look up at his friend sparkle and twinkle as they fell.

Cinnamon and honey hair glowed in the backlight from the door as Treize turned to close it behind him, and then soft footfalls marked his movement to the side of the bath. "Comfortable?" the general asked, his voice a low murmur, as he sat on the edge facing his friend.

"Hmm." Zechs allowed his eyes to drift closed as they wanted to and smiled in response to Treize's soft chuckle. A sharp clink and an unexpected chill weight against his hand told him that the older man had brought the bourbon bottle with him and was refilling his glass and he concentrated on the faint, tart aroma of the alcohol layered over the dampness of the water, the citrus tang of the remnants of his cologne and the heavier perfume of Treize's.

The sudden scent of roses overwhelmed everything else and Zechs opened his eyes, briefly, to see his friend pouring the oil the younger man remembered so well from Christmas from a small bottle into the palms of his hands.

"I seem to recall you liked this?" Treize asked, leaning forward and allowing those hands to rest on the pilot's shoulders. It was a familiar gesture, soothing as strong fingers, slick with the oil, dug into the muscles and began to drag the last of the stiffness from them.

Zechs sighed, feeling the low burn of desire in his body rack a notch higher. Until Treize had touched him, the younger man hadn't realised how much he'd wanted him to.

The hands left his shoulders as the water splashed and lapped around him and then there was a second source of heat in the bath with him – one with smooth skin and warm breath. Zechs opened his eyes again to see Treize gazing at him from a few inches away, his quiet smile reflected in the light in his deep eyes. Long fingers stole the blonde's glass from his hand as Zechs asked himself how he hadn't noticed that the general wasn't wearing anything when he came into the room.

Treize's smile quirked into a mischievous grin as he effortlessly followed the pilot's train of thought. He took a sip from the glass, swallowed it to answer his own nervous qualms – it had struck him, whilst he was removing his own clothes and readying the bedroom, just what it was that he was preparing for, and what it meant to him – felt the bite of the bourbon in his throat and set the glass on the side of the bath.

For a moment, Treize allowed himself to simply look at his companion, acknowledging privately what he doubted would ever be said aloud. Ever a pleasure to look at, as Zechs was now – relaxed and contented, water-glazed, bronze-tinted skin glowing in the light, white-gold hair swirling in the bath around them both – the younger man possessed an almost unapproachable beauty.

Articulate as he was – many had titled him silver-tongued – Treize knew that put into words, no matter how clever they were, such sentiments would quickly become maudlin and trite and would likely cause an awkward embarrassment for them both. Such thoughts were better communicated in other ways.

Treize lifted one hand from the water and brushed a lock of Zechs's striking hair back. "Kiss me," he murmured.

Zechs looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward and did as he was asked. The pressure of his lips on the general's was soft at first, simply unassumingly there until Treize slipped the hand that was still playing with the silvery strands of hair behind Zechs's head and drew them together.

The kiss deepened naturally, becoming a fluid, practiced shifting and stroking pleasure. Zechs fell into the familiar wash of sensations it summoned up, delighting in the taunting brush of the other man's tongue and the teasing sting of his teeth. Slowly, it came to the pilot that there was a sense of certainty in this kiss that made it all the more pleasing. For – perhaps – the first time they were both completely at ease, not having to worry about what would happen next or to remember that they couldn't let things go too far. It was so odd a thought – that tonight, when they had more to be nervous about than they had ever had before, they could simply relax and let things happen as they would – that Zechs felt amusement bubbling up inside him and he broke the kiss to laugh.

At the same moment, Treize used his hold on Zechs to shift them both so they were more or less lying in the water together. The shock of the general's solid, slender weight stole the laughter away and flashed heat through the blond. He gasped, abruptly breathless and found himself shifting restlessly, pressing his body against the older man's.

Treize's fingers unwound themselves from the hair at the back of Zechs's neck and settled on his shoulder again whilst he rained fleeting, feather-light kisses along the pilot's jaw line and down his neck. The general's hand moved just as his mouth reached the spot it rested on and traced a path down the younger man's chest with caresses that switched, seemingly at whim, from soothingly firm to ticklingly light, and back again.

Zechs closed his hands, in turn, on his commander's waist, gripping too hard as that mouth focused on its chosen inch of his skin. Treize was going to leave a mark, Zechs was sure, if he didn't move on rather shortly – but it was hard to care when the combination of lips, tongue and teeth, and the ever lower stroking of Treize's hands was creating such a firestorm of need in him. He moaned and felt Treize slide both of his hands to the blonde's hips and tighten there in wordless approving reply.

Treize lifted his mouth from his lover's collarbone, silently approving of his handiwork, and shifted his body lower on the blonde's. Thanking God for natural grace and supple muscles, he folded in on himself and settled so he was sitting on his heels in the water. For a moment Treize allowed himself to simply watch the younger man, then he let go of the pilot's hip and let his hand drift over until he could take hold of his stiffened need.

Zechs cried out at the first brush of Treize's fingers on his erection, so delightfully responsive, and then gave into breathy moans as Treize began a steady stroking, his hand firm and sure and rendered slick by the water in the bath. The younger man's skin took on the first shades of a deepening rosiness caused by exertion and nearing release, and Treize reached out with his free hand to tip more of the scented oil into his palm – perfectly certain that Zechs had no idea what else it could serve as.

"Oh, God…. Treize, stop!" Zechs pleaded, voice ragged, knowing he couldn't last much longer.

Treize smiled. "Why?" he asked, to tease, then shook his head. "It's fine – let it happen."

"But…"

"But what? Don't you trust my powers of resurrection?"

Zechs shook his head but Treize doubted it had anything to do with a negative answer. Practiced movements slicked the fingers of his free hand with the oil he'd collected without breaking rhythm and as Zechs arched and spent, he slipped his first finger past the tight muscle of Zechs's entrance and into his body, choosing to lose the shock of this first invasive touch under the wash of the younger man's climax.

The force of Zechs's movements caused a fair amount of the bath water to spill over the sides and onto the slate floor but Treize scarcely noticed as he concentrated on his twin goals – holding his hand still and preventing his friend from drowning himself as he collapsed back into the support of the water. His heavy, gasping breaths the only sound in the room, it was almost a full minute before Zechs sighed with contentment and opened his eyes.

Treize met his gaze as it began to clear and offered him a gentle smile. "Milliardo…," he murmured, waiting.

The younger man began to sit up lazily and more water splashed onto the slate as he convulsed in shock when the change in position made him abruptly aware of the presence of Treize's finger. The general had to react quickly to avoid taking a blow from a flailing limb: his free hand caught Zechs's and held it in a tight grip until the younger man stilled again, freezing completely, crystal eyes wide and breath catching.

"Oh, my God…!" Zechs gasped, everything in him focussing on the alien sensation.

Treize chuckled at him, the sound rich and flowing in the heavy air of the bathroom and squeezed the hand he was still holding. "My apologies for surprising you. It is somewhat different, isn't it?"

"Uh…"

"Quite." Treize let go of the younger man's hand and began to stroke the pilot's hair back from his forehead. "Am I hurting you?"

"…No…," the pilot replied hesitantly. "It's just… odd…"

"I know. Try to relax – just let yourself get used to it."

Zechs closed his eyes, letting himself drift in the twinned sensations Treize's hands were creating – the comfortable, calming feel of his hair being petted and the sharper, new-found spirals of heat being generated inside him. Whilst he would never have admitted it aloud, Treize's hands were one of the things Zechs found most compelling about his lover and being touched by them in any way had long been something of a secret pleasure. The idea of those slender, pale-skinned, elegant fingers actually inside his body was enough to cause a flare through his nerves that made Zechs twist into their touch unconsciously.

Treize felt the tension in the muscles trapping his finger relax and smiled when the younger man began to rock against his touch. Obligingly, he shifted his finger, pressing it deeper and it was enough to win him a soft moan from his friend.

"Treize… that feels…"

The general bent forwards, halting any further words with his mouth as he kissed the pilot. Aware that the water was beginning to cool, he rubbed the oil onto his next finger, pulled the first free for a moment, and then let Zechs's own movement slide both back into his body.

The sudden burning stretch triggered a sharp cry and another moment of frozen uncertainty from the younger man as his body reacted to the unfamiliar pressure. This time, Treize didn't wait for Zechs to begin to move on his own – he waited just long enough for the tightness to start to ebb away and used that as his cue to begin moving his hand back and forward, pressing the looseness he needed into the tissues under his touch.

The pilot shifted uneasily, the movement somewhere between a demanding squirm and a flinching struggle to get away and Treize leaned into him and kissed him again, his free hand washing the first glaze of sweat from the younger man's forehead as he continued running it through the wraith-like locks of hair. "Breathe," he murmured. "Just breathe."

The older man persisted until every last trace of tightness had gone from the pilot's body – until he was whimpering, working his own body further onto the fingers inside him – and then he pulled his hand away slowly, pleased when Zechs moaned a protest.

Gracefully, Treize got to his feet and stepped out of the rapidly chilling water, collecting one of the towels he'd readied and wrapping it around himself to counter the cool air. A second towel over one arm, he offered his hand to the younger man like some old-fashioned butler and helped him to climb over the side of the bath onto the water-slick floor. Midnight eyes met those the colour of a winter dawn and Treize smiled, pulling his friend into his arms and against himself as he threw the towel around him.

Zechs was trembling – shivers only partially caused by the low temperature of the room – and he inhaled sharply as he pressed his renewed hardness into the general's hip.

Brisk rubbing with the towels banished the water from their skin and took the worst of it from Zechs's hair, and then the older man smiled at him gently. "Still willing to go through with this?" he asked, his voice softer than Zechs had thought it could be.

Zechs nodded, and the smile grew. "Bed, then," Treize instructed.

The pilot threw the towel he'd dried himself with onto the counter and turned for the door, leaving Treize to snare one or two rather crucial items and follow him.

***************************

Zechs let himself fall into the softness of the pillows as Treize tugged the tie that would close the drapes on the bed, arranging the heavy, tapestry-like fabric until there was no gap at all in the folds. The antique four-poster, along with the size of the bathtub, had been the reason Treize had chosen this room for the two of them but neither of them had thought it necessary to close the hangings before now. In fact, Zechs had dismissed them as something of an anachronistic annoyance but he smiled slowly now, watching as the older man fussed and made sure that all view of the world beyond the bed was completely gone.

It was a curiously comforting feeling, the sense that the two of them were cocooned in their own little hideaway and Zechs finally began to understand why Treize had brought him here in the first place. Fragile as their shelter was, a matter of perception rather than actuality, it would grant them something in what was about to happen that Zechs hadn't even known he wanted until this moment. The drapes blocked out a good portion of the light as well, giving their self-created haven an intimate gloom and casting shifting shadows along Treize's fair-skinned form as he turned around.

The sight left Zechs, his body still tingling and needy from the bath and his emotions swirling, reaching for the older man impatiently, pulling at him until he was lying half atop the pilot, and gazing down at him gently.

"Eager, aren't you?" Treize quizzed, the smile on his face more than a little feral.

Zechs gazed up at him and shrugged. "Do you blame me for being?" he asked softly.

"Not really," Treize admitted. "I can't say I'm not." He wound long fingers into a lock of Zechs's hair and tugged lightly. "But you are going to have to be patient a little longer."

Zechs's expression took on a hint of a glare, though whether it was at having his hair pulled or at the idea of being patient, Treize couldn't be sure. The pilot lifted a hand and batted at the fingers the older man had tangled up in a curiously feline gesture, making Treize chuckle at him quietly as he caught the blonde's hand before it could make contact with his own. He pressed the captured hand into the yielding folds of the pillows above the younger man's head and pinned it there as he brought his mouth down on the pilot's own.

Their kiss drove the playfulness from the moment, recalling the simmering heat the two men had built up between them in the bathroom. Zechs began to struggle against the restraining grip, making noises low in the back of his throat and, for once, the older man gave into his wordless request and let him go.

Treize smiled quietly as the blonde's fingers immediately began tugging at him, trying to draw him more fully against the lithe form beneath him. He let himself be settled into position on the soft sheets and held it just long enough to kiss Zechs again, deep and lingering, and then pulled away as the younger man's breathing began to catch in his throat.

Moving languidly, Treize knelt up to snag the vial of oil he had brought from the bathroom into his hand and then settled back on his heels between parted knees.

Zechs cast a curious look at the bottle and Treize turned it, opening his palm so that the younger man could see what it was. "I should have known," the pilot murmured, not quite rolling his eyes.

"Yes," Treize smirked, "you probably should have. Useful stuff, this. I have it specifically made up just so it can serve as many purposes as it does."

"I can believe it," Zechs replied. "Is there anything you don't use that for? I wouldn't be surprised to find you've oiled your suits with it before now."

Treize shrugged, laughing softly. "I haven't gone quite that far but I'll admit the stuff gets about a bit. It's possible to buy all sorts of things that will do the job we need it for tonight over the counter in any number of shops, but…"

"But that just wouldn't be you," Zechs finished for him, and smiled affectionately.

"Indeed not. I much prefer the personal touch it lends to things, and besides," Treize gave another shrug, just a fraction less careless than the last, "this is far more… discreet… than any commercial product would be."

Before the implications behind that statement could take root in Zechs's agile mind and ruin the mood between them, the general flicked the silver lid of the flask open and poured the honey-coloured, sweet-smelling oil into his palm, working it into his fingers until they were as slick as they had been in the bath. A deft twist of his wrist allowed him to close it again with the hand holding it and Treize dropped the bottle onto the bed, knowing it wouldn't leak, making sure it was within easy reach if he needed it again.

He turned his attention back the younger man, one long look between them to confirm Zechs was still sure about this, and then the general leaned forward a little, reaching out to snag one of the spare pillows from the top of the bed.

Zechs cast him a curious look as the older man brought it to his chest, almost hugging it to himself as he smiled. "You really should be on your knees for this," Treize offered. "The angle would be… easier for you, but," he shrugged and Zechs was surprised to see him colour a little, "I confess, I'd rather you stay as you are."

"Alright," Zechs agreed.

"Thank you," Treize sighed and patted Zechs lightly on the top of his hip bone. "Roll over a little, will you?" he asked. Zechs raised an eyebrow but co-operated, looking a little surprised when Treize slipped the pillow underneath him and gestured for him to roll back.

The general offered him another steadying smile, leaned forward to press his mouth to the younger man's once more and slid his first two fingers back into Zechs's body at the same time.

For a moment, Zechs tensed against the sensation of having his body breached, instinct and inexperience prompting the reaction beyond his effort to suppress it. A moment later he began to relax, moaning as he dug his heels into the bed and arched his back to drive those fingers further into him.

Treize watched him, working to keep his face from showing his thoughts too clearly. For tonight, the blonde needed Treize to give him the version of his commander he was used to, calm and in control. He didn't need to know that this was the first time Treize had taken a partner to bed who was less experienced than himself, that the general was guiding Zechs mostly from his own memories. Nor did he need to know just how relieved the older man was at how easily Zechs was handling things. The pilot had taken to it all as well as the older man had ever hoped he would, and if he didn't yet have Treize's own abiding love for the sensations he was feeling, then it was sufficient for now that it was necessary for the general to grip the blonde's hip with his free hand and hold him to keep him from moving with too much force.

A few seconds was enough to regain any relaxation of muscle lost in the time since they'd left the bath, and then Treize concentrated on transferring the oil from his fingers to his partner with firm, thorough caresses that had the younger man panting and not so far from reaching his peak. Zechs's moan of utter frustration when he pulled his hand clear was both pleasing and an indication that he hadn't stopped a moment too soon – though the pilot was young, even a body in its teens had limits – and Treize's own self control was teetering on a knife edge, shattered by watching the younger man caught in pleasure and knowing it was his touch that had put him there.

It was the work of a few seconds to apply the oil to his own shaft, and then he wiped his fingers clean on the towel he'd thrown across one corner of the bed and stretched out.

He caught soft lips with his own and spent a few seconds trapped in the kiss before lifting his head. "Milliardo – look at me, my love," Treize whispered, and burning-cold eyes, dazed with feeling, latched onto his own. The hand resting on the pilot's slim hip traced a path down his thigh and caught under his knee, drawing it up. Treize rocked his weight forward and felt the first inch of his own hardened flesh enter the body beneath him.

Zechs flinched from the stinging, burning pain Treize's arousal caused him. Though he could tell it would have been far worse without the loosening effect of the older man's fingers, it was a completely different sensation, and it was all he could do not to struggle and pull away. He shut his eyes tightly, whimpering and hating the sound even as he made it. He knew he was tensing even though he realised it was the last thing he should be doing.

"Shh," Treize murmured into his ear, long fingers carding through his hair in steady, and steadying, strokes. "Stay with me, beloved, try to let it happen."

Zechs shook his head, suddenly not sure if he could do this after all. "I…. it…."

"I know, I know…" Treize soothed, holding himself completely still. "Press down against me," he instructed. "It helps, and it will feel better in a minute – I promise it will."

Zechs took deep breaths, trying to force his body to adjust – for his lover's sake. There had been strain in Treize's voice, despite how careful he was being not to let it show anywhere else, and hearing it had reminded Zechs that although he had reached climax in the bath, the older man had all but ignored his own needs in his efforts to make this as pleasurable as possible for his friend.

Still, he knew that if he asked Treize to stop, the general would and would never even dream of reproaching him for it later – and it was that thought, finally, that gave him the courage to do as he had been asked and press down. It hurt, enough to force that silly little whimpering noise from him again, but almost immediately, the movement started to overcome his instinctive tensing and it began to get easier.

Treize let go of the breath he'd been holding as some of the pressure melted away and started to move in his own turn – little rocking shifts that grew slowly into shallow thrusts as Zechs finally relaxed under him, and then picked up his rhythm and matched him. "Oh, mein liebe," he breathed, feeling a peculiar mix of protectiveness and passion, overwhelming love and pure physical need rise up in him. It was both humbling and honouring that Zechs would let him do this, and whilst in terms of simple skill, the younger man was nowhere near the calibre of some of his previous partners, this remained the closest thing to perfection Treize had ever felt. It was a breath-taking swirl of longing and desire, and from one breath to the next he knew he wasn't going to last long, even as he heard his lover moan his own surging pleasure.

Treize's soft cry broke some unknown restraint in the younger man – shattered whatever had kept his movements tentative – and left him arching and writhing, changing the angle and the intensity of the general's body in his. There was a sudden flare of white across his vision as something sparked deep inside him, flashing fire through him, and he clung to Treize, short-trimmed nails digging into skin, as his release swept up, dizzying and devastating, and left him all but screaming as he came.

Lost in the whirl of sensation, he was only dimly aware of the older man's hands biting deeply into the skin of his hips as Treize began to move desperately – a brief series of fast, deep thrusts that ended when Treize gave a second soft, sharp cry, and went completely still in his arms, a flood of whispered German a match for the fluid Zechs could feel spilling inside himself.

They lay in utter immobility for a time Zechs couldn't adequately name, their breathing steadying and their skin cooling. What little of Treize's breathless whispering the pilot could understand seemed to translate out into a series of heartfelt prayers and touching endearments.

"Oh, merciful God…. Milliardo, sweetheart… dear one…."

The trembling that always seemed to take Treize after climax started, and for once, Zechs knew he was shaking just as hard. He wanted to say something, but he had the feeling that he wouldn't be able to get it past the sudden tightness in his throat.

It had ebbed enough for speech just as Treize lifted his head from Zechs's shoulder and kissed him deeply – slow and tender and expressing everything he had whispered and all the contentment and gratitude he was feeling besides. With an effort, he slipped himself free of his lover's body and reached for the towel to clean them both up.

Zechs let him work, not moving from his boneless sprawl on the bed. He was flushed and sweating, his hair a wild curtain around him, and he looked thoroughly debauched and dishevelled and never more exquisite. "Milliardo, my love, get under the covers," Treize murmured, dropping the towel and the bottle of oil onto the floor at the side of the bed, and pulling back the sheets.

Zechs moved slowly, rolling onto his side with his head buried in one of the pillows, and Treize couldn't help but laugh, murmuring some further endearment as he laid down behind him, dropped a gentle, grateful kiss on the back of his neck, folded him into his arms and sank into exhausted sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Noin sipped at her pre-breakfast coffee, and then set the cup back onto its saucer on the table in front of her, glancing at Une seated across from her as she did so. The older woman seemed to be taken by the news article she was reading, and was all but ignoring her own cup.

The younger woman let her attention drift from her immediate surroundings as she recalled her conversation with her former classmate the previous evening, experiencing again the peculiar mix of exasperated affection and amused annoyance she had felt at his naivety.

It had been a genuine surprise to her to learn that Treize hadn't bedded him yet – somehow, she had seen the general as the sort of man who took what, and whom, he wanted, when he wanted them, and most likely made them think it was their idea whilst he did it. Certainly, he was more than capable of sweet-talking one seventeen-year-old virgin into his bed if he was so inclined. Learning that he hadn't done so with her friend at the first chance he got, that he had chosen instead to wait for the younger man, had left her feeling both pleased and saddened.

Zechs's comments about Treize's reasons for waiting had changed her opinion about the subject rather sharply, banishing the new-found wave of tenderness towards the older man and leaving her displeased with her friend and irritated with the general. It was a shock to learn that Zechs was, despite everything that had happened to him, still so gullible.

Did he really believe that nonsense about the age of consent mattering? Noin had realised instantly what Zechs clearly hadn't; that if Treize had touched the pilot at all, he'd given whatever enemies he had – and she could believe that the general had his fair share of those – all the ammunition they'd ever need. Just that scene she'd interrupted on the plane would be enough to bring charges of assault, if that was the intent. Zechs obviously hadn't grasped the fact that if they were ever caught they were both in trouble. It wouldn't matter a whit whether he was eighteen or eight when he first went to bed with Treize – the older man was his Commanding Officer. The two of them shouldn't even be considering being lovers.

She sighed, sipped at her coffee, and glanced across at Une again, knowing what Zechs's reply would be if she were to point any of that out to him: If that were the case for him, surely it was also the case for Une, and yet Noin had spent most of her Christmas break encouraging the other woman.

She pondered, for a moment, what it would take for her classmate to realise that it was different for Une. Fair or not, in the society the Oz officers moved in, Treize and Une would have gotten away with a relationship where Treize and Zechs would not. Most likely, they would have done more than get away with it.

From what Noin had seen of things, Treize could have outright asked Une to marry him and the worst that would have happened, would have been a slap on the wrist and few disapproving head shakes at some of the dances. She honestly doubted that they'd even have received those – in her opinion the whole thing would have been given a strong media spin. Whilst she had been supporting Une, she'd always thought it would end in hundreds of publicity photos of Treize and his Lady, and a new slogan for the organisation, touting some such nonsense as the leaders of the future living in perfect harmony with each other at work and at home. Treize would have escaped punishment because Une was a social equal – talented, pretty and obviously devoted to him – and because he needed to have children to protect his family line. Une would have gotten away with it simply because she was female.

It was the same reasoning that she had always applied to her dreams of a relationship between Zechs and herself – whatever the Code of Conduct said, the two of them, the Special's top pilots, would have been good publicity. The whole world liked the perfect, star-crossed lovers' image.

No matter what Zechs might think, Noin refused to believe that Treize had delayed things until the younger man's birthday simply because of his age. It was clear to her that Treize had concocted that story to cover for something else entirely – he had chosen to wait for Zechs's birthday, she had concluded, because it _was_ his birthday – because he wanted Zechs to have another reason for remembering it apart from the destruction of his home and family.

On the surface, it was a truly sweet thing for the older man to have done, and for a few minutes she had found herself smiling at the idea, until she remembered whom she was attributing this to. Somehow, sweet didn't seem a strong enough motivating factor for a man who could plot circles around Machiavelli in his spare time.

There was thread of anger in Noin's feelings towards her superior now, and a shade of disgust. It hadn't taken her long to realise that Treize had played on Zechs's innocent faith in him, had manipulated the younger man completely. She had no doubt that the general had set up this entire weekend to do to her friend exactly what it had, and she couldn't help but wonder if her own part in it had been a set-up as well. Had Treize planned for her to see them at Christmas, to overhear what she had – therefore prompting her confrontation with her friend – or had it merely been convenient coincidence? One way or the other, Treize had put Zechs in a position where he was vulnerable to the memories of his past, had watched and bided his time whilst they had torn the pilot apart, and then, last night, with one act and a few hours of his time, he had put the younger man back together in the fashion he chose and bound her friend to him for the rest of their lives.

Une reaching for her coffee cup distracted Noin from the bitter direction her thoughts had taken, and she shook her head at herself, wondering when she had become so cynical. Surely Treize had done what he had because he loved Zechs, nothing more. What was she thinking, devising all these elaborate plots all of a sudden? What need did Treize have to find another way to tie Zechs to him anyway? The younger man was his completely, and from what she had seen lately, had been for most of his life.

Sighing, she got to her feet, and went to indulge her love for cooking one last time – determined to make the most perfect breakfast either man had ever had.

******************************

Zechs woke to the feel of a warm body drawing him close, wrapping him in strong arms and the embrace of the heavy covers. It was pleasant, comfortable, and he sighed gently as he drifted into a doze. Light little nipping kisses were trailed across the back of his shoulder, teasing him away from the lure of sleep and he turned into the touches, rolling onto his back without opening his eyes, a lazy smile answering the low chuckle his shifting seemed to have provoked. The kisses resumed, across his collarbone and his throat this time, and the soft brush of auburn hair against his skin accompanied them. The strands of hair tickled and Zechs found himself laughing quietly as he finally opened his eyes.

"Good morning," Treize greeted, looking down at him, amusement and affection playing across his face and lighting his night-dark gaze. "I'd begun to wonder if you were ever going to wake up."

"I'm sure I would have eventually," Zechs murmured back, and slid his arms above his head so he could stretch the night's lack of use from his muscles.

Treize watched him, raising an eyebrow with a knowing smile as the movement made the younger man flinch a little, reminding him, with the strain on muscles that had never been used in that way before, just what they had done the previous evening.

The pilot frowned a little; concentrating on the stiffness in his back and thighs, and the vague soreness inside himself made him aware of places in his body that he had never really paid conscious attention to before. The odd sensations they were feeding him now were unlike anything he had felt before.

Treize's fingertips brushing his cheekbone drew his attention from his body and he shifted it to the general. "How do you feel?" the older man asked him, and Zechs shrugged. "You aren't hurting too badly, I hope?"

"Not too badly, no," the younger man conceded. "Not at all, really. It's more that I feel anything at all…" He trailed off, not knowing the words to describe the sensation of being open he was feeling – the ghostly impression that muscle memory was giving him of there still being something inside him.

A glimmer in sapphire eyes and a quirk to Treize's lips let him know that he didn't need to find words. "It'll pass when you start moving around."

Faint colour touched Zechs's face. "I'm not sure I want it to," he admitted quietly.

Treize smiled at him, then leaned down and kissed him thoroughly, lingering long enough that Zechs could feel himself beginning to harden again. He moaned softly when the older man pulled back

"Oh, to be eighteen again!" Treize sighed dramatically, and ended up flat on his back laughing as Zechs shoved at him in exasperation.

"I suppose I should be more understanding about your aged lack of stamina!" the younger man retorted, and yelped as his commander reached out and swatted him.

"You should," Treize agreed and rolled out of the bed, reaching for his clothes.

Zechs watched him from where he was lying, slowly recognizing that Treize must have been up for quite some time before he woke him. The room had been straightened and most of their things repacked in their bags. The general had even, Zechs realised as the older man began pulling his hair back into its usual style, found the time to take his shower.

He stretched again, feeling the shift of his strained body mingle with the lingering heat sparked by their kiss and smiled. "Treize," he murmured. "Do we really have to get up?"

A split-ended eyebrow rose as Treize turned his head to look at the pilot. "I seem to have created a monster," he mused, tapping the back of his hairbrush against the open palm of his other hand. He shook his head. "Unfortunately, we have to get back to Luxembourg relatively early, so move it, Major."

Zechs scowled, but obeyed, sliding from the warmth of the sheets and padding into the bathroom.

*************************************

Zechs picked up his hairbrush and pushed his wet hair out of his face, preparing to brush it out. A glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall made him pause, and he set the brush down again as he tuned to look at his reflection properly. He didn't look in any way different from the way he had when he'd been getting ready for the meal the night before, barring the marks Treize had left on his skin, and somehow that surprised him. He _felt _changed; his perception of the world around him had altered, so why didn't it show?

It wasn't the first time he had felt this sense of being out of sync with the rest of the world – he had long ago learned that life altering events had this effect on him – but this was the first time there hadn't been some visible sign; this time there was no scar, no mask or uniform, merely the stiffness in his body and his own knowledge.

Picking his brush up again, he drew it through his hair until he was satisfied with the silky fall, and then slid into his clothes and packed his toiletries, ready to leave.

Treize was waiting for him in the bedroom, seated gracefully on the couch underneath the window, and he got to his feet as the younger man approached him, smiling at him and reaching out for him.

Zechs went into the offered embrace willingly.

"You took longer than you usually do – is everything alright?" Treize asked.

"I'm fine… just a little dazed, I think." He bit his lip wondering whether to confess his thoughts. "I feel… changed… Everything seems different this morning. Silly, I know," he admitted.

"Not at all," Treize countered. "I'd think you odd if you didn't feel altered – don't you think you should be?"

"I don't know."

The older man stroked a hand down the pilot's spine. "You aren't the only one feeling it, my love. I don't think it's possible to experience something like that and come out untouched."

Zechs pulled away a little, enough that Treize could see his face, and the expression on it and in the pilot's eyes made the older man smile. It was a charming mix of surprise and delight, touched with a vulnerability that called to mind the winsome child his friend had been not so many years before.

"You…?" Zechs asked, colour touching the faint tan of his skin as he stumbled for words. "But you've… I mean, it wasn't…."

Treize laughed quietly. "No, you weren't my first – you knew that. That hardly means last night didn't matter to me. Or that I can easily dismiss the fact that you'd let me be your first, and how that makes me feel."

"Oh."

"Yes – oh." Treize smiled at Zechs for a moment, holding his gaze, and then he brushed a light kiss across his forehead and stepped away. "Come on."

***************************************

Treize strapped himself into one of the passenger seats on the plane and smiled as he watched Zechs do the same and wince a little. The younger man had begun shifting restlessly about halfway through their drive to the airport, leaving Treize to conclude that over three hours of sitting still – first through the lengthy breakfast-come-lunch Noin had prepared, and then in the car – had caused his muscles to stiffen and protest more vigorously about their treatment the night before.

Quietly, he resolved to force Zechs into borrowing his bath again as a remedy and his smile became a smirk as he acknowledged to himself that his motivation for such a gesture wasn't entirely altruistic. A good part of him was hoping that the deliberate repetition of last night's opening moves would leave the younger man in a willing mood. Having once had the pilot completely, he had found he was rather eager to repeat the experience – and whilst he knew it would be pain rather than pleasure for Zechs if Treize tried to make love to him again so soon, still there were other things they could share which were far more satisfying than not touching each other at all.

The plane, once again under the command of the two women, accelerated along the runway and took to the skies, banking as it came to the heading needed for the Luxembourg base.

Zechs was out of his seat and pacing almost as soon as the flight levelled off, casting baleful glances in Treize's direction until the older man was forced to give into laughter.

"Glare at me if it makes you feel better, love, but I did warn you to expect some discomfort. For all that it feels so good, the human body wasn't designed to do what we did last night."

Zechs let his expression soften into a rueful grimace. "I suppose I should only be grateful that I don't have to pilot a mobile suit in this state. That _would _be unpleasant!"

Treize undid his own restraints and went to stand behind his companion, slipping his arms around the younger man's slender waist. "It's not the most comfortable of experiences, no," he agreed, casting his mind back over the few occasions he'd been forced to do exactly that.

The pilot had turned enough in his arms that the general caught the dark look that flared in Zechs's eyes at his words. It seemed one night had been enough to make the blond possessive. Treize supposed, after all that nonsense over Une at Christmas, that he should have expected it, but he couldn't say he was disappointed. In truth, he liked the flash of jealousy enough to see if he could encourage it a little.

"Oh?" Zechs asked, and his tone of voice was too casual.

Treize answered him with a knowing smirk. "There's been a time or two," he murmured. Zechs's eyes narrowed and Treize shrugged. "It gets easier with practice, obviously, but I was very gentle with you last night. There _was_ one occasion when I had no idea I was going to be piloting the next day and I encouraged my partner to be rather… vigorous about things. I distinctly recall regretting that during the mission I had to fly." The smirk gave way to a smug smile. "Though I rather liked it at the time, of course…"

Treize began to pull away, and was stopped by Zechs's sudden fierce grip on his arm as the younger man looked at him with darkened eyes and an unreadable expression. "Did you now?" the pilot asked, and kissed him, fast and hard and punishing. Treize gave a low moan, and Zechs pulled away, letting him go and stepping towards the cockpit. "I'll remember that," he tossed over his shoulder.

Treize blinked, caught his balance and smiled. Just before the younger man vanished from view, the general gestured with his hand as if conceding a duel, acknowledging that Zechs had won this particular game.

The pilot smiled back at him, and left Treize to celebrate in silence at the success of his work.


End file.
